or 


M 


61  FT  OP 
ROBEFCT 
DELPHER 


/, 


FIRST    FAMILIES 


SIERRAS. 


BY    JOAQUINJVIILLER, 

AUTHOR  OF  "SONGS  OF  THE  SIERRAS,"  " SONGS  OF  THE  SUN-LANDS, 
"THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT,"  ETC. 


CHICAGO: 

JANSEN,   McCLURG    &    CO 
1876. 


COPYRIGHT. 

JANSEN,    McCLURG   &    CO, 
A.   D.    1876. 


TO 

MY     OLD 
COMPANION   IN   ARMS, 

PRINCE    JAMIE    TOMAS, 

OF 

LEON,  NICARAGUA. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

IN  THE  FOEKS,                  ....  5 

LITTLE  BILLIE  PIPER,                    -        -        -  15 

THE  FIEST  WOMAN  IN  THE  FOEKS,         -  21 

SUNDAY  IN  THE  SIEEEAS,     -        ...  31 

WASHEE -WASHEE,    -                 -        -        -  40 

SOME  UNWEITTEN  HISTOEY,         .        .        .  Q% 

THAT  BOY,                                   .        .        .  59 

SANDY'S  COUETSHIP, 74 

"THAT  BOY"  is  ILL,        ....  73 

A  SCENE  IN  THE  SIEEEAS,            ...  84 

THE  PAESON'S  PUESUIT  OP  LOVE,    -        -  90 

GEIT,    -                                                             .  100 

AN  ANNOUNCEMENT,                          .        .  no 

A  WEDDING  IN  THE  SIEEEAS,      -        -        -  118 

WHAT'S  THE  MATTEE  Now?    -        -        -  124 

'WAS  THE  WOMAN  INSANE?          -        -        -  136 

CAPTAIN  TOMMY,      .....  ^49 

"BLOOD!"    - 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

How  DID  IT  HAPPEN?      -  164 

A  FLAG  OF  TRUCE^       -  -    174 

THE  QUESTION  NONE  COULD  ANSWER,  -         183 

DEBATABLE  GROUND,    -  -    194 

ANOTHER  WEDDING  AT  THE  FORKS,  200 

THE  JUDGE  is  LONESOME,    -  .  -    #11 

AFTER  THE  DELUGE  —  WHAT  THEN?  215 

THE  WIDOW  IN  DISGRACE,  -    219 

BILLIE  PIPER  AND  DEBOON,     -  224 

THE  GOPHER,  -    229 

A  NATURAL  DEATH,  234 

A  FUNERAL,  -    239 

THE  CARAVAN  OF  DEATH,  251 

THE  END,     -                 -        -        -  -        -    255 


>FTHE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS, 


CHAPTER   I. 

IN  THE  FORKS. 

NOW  there  was  young  Deboon  from  Boston, 
who  was  a  very  learned  man.  He  was 
in  fact  one  of  those  fearfully  learned  men.  He 
was  a  man  who  could  talk  in  all  tongues — and 
think  in  none. 

Perhaps  he  had  sometime  been  a  waiter. 

I  am  bound  to  say  that  the  most  dreadfully 
learned  young  men  I  have  ever  met  are  the 
waiters  in  the  Continental  hotels. 

Besides  that  he  was  very  handsome.  He 
was,  indeed,  almost  as  handsome  as  a  French 
barber,  or  a  first-class  steward. 

Another  thing  that  helped  to  defeat  him  in 
this  hurried  election  was  his  love  of  animals 
and  his  dislike  of  hard  work.  The  handsome 
fellow  stood  for  election  this  day  with  a  bushy- 
tailed  squirrel  frisking  on  his  shoulder,  and  a 

5 


6         FIBST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIEBBAS. 

pair  of  pink-eyed  white  mice  peeping  out  like 
a  handkerchief  from  the  pocket  of  his  red 
shirt. 

Then  there  was  Chipper  Charley  —  smart 
enough,  and  a  man,  too,  who  had  read  at  least 
a  dozen  books  ;  but  the  Forks  did  n't  want  him 
for  an  Alcalde  any  more  than  it  did  Deboon. 

Then  there  was  Limber  Tim,  and  Limber 
certainly  could  write  his  name,  for  he  was 
always  leaning  up  against  trees  and  houses  and 
fences,  when  he  could  find  them,  and  writing 
the  day  and  date,  and  making  grotesque  pic 
tures  with  a  great  carpenter's  pencil,  which  he 
carried  in  the  capacious  depths  of  his  duck 
breeches'  pocket.  But  when  Sandy  proposed 
Limber  Tim,  the  Camp  silently  but  firmly  shook 
its  head,  and  said,  "  Not  for  Joseph." 

At  last  the  new  camp  pitched  upon  a  man 
who,  it  seemed,  had  been  called  The  Judge 
from  the  first.  Perhaps  he  had  been  born  with 
that  name.  It  would  indeed  have  been  hard  to 
think  of  him  under  any  other  appellation  what 
ever.  It  had  been  easier  to  imagine  that  when 
he  had  first  arrived  on  earth  his  parents  met 
him  at  the  door,  took  his  carpet-bag,  called  him 
Judge,  and  invited  him  in. 

As  is  usually  the  case  in  the  far,  far  West, 
this  man  was  elected  Judge  simply  because  he 
was  fit  for  nothing  else. 


IN  THE   FOKKS.  7 

The  " boys  "  didn't  want  a  man  above  them 
who  knew  too  much. 

When  Chipper  Charley  had  been  proposed, 
an  old  man  rose  up,  turned  his  hat  wrong  side 
out  with  his  fist,  twisted  his  beard  around  his 
left  hand,  spirted  a  stream  of  tobacco  juice 
down  through  an  aisle  of  rugged  men  and  half 
way  across  the  earthen  floor  of  the  Howling 
Wilderness  saloon,  and  then  proceeded  to  make 
a  speech  that  killed  the  candidate  dead  on  the 
spot. 

This  was  the  old  man's  speech  :  — 

"  That  won't  go  down.  Too  much  book 
larnin." 

But  the  new  Judge,  or  rather  the  old,  bald- 
headed,  dumpy,  dirty-faced  little  fellow,  with 
the  dirty  shirt  and  dirty  duck  breeches,  was  not 
a  bad  man  at  all.  The  "boys"  had  too  much 
hard  sense  to  set  up  anything  but  a  sort  of 
wooden  king  to  rule  over  them  in  this  little 
isolated  remote  camp  and  colony  of  the  Sierras. 
And  they  were  perfectly  content  with  their  log 
too,  and  never  once  called  out  to  Jupiter  for 
King  Stork. 

This  old  idiotic  little  Judge,  with  a  round 
head,  round  red  face,  and  round  belly,  had  no 
mind  —  he  had  no  memory.  He  had  tried 
everything  in  the  world  almost,  and  always  had 
failed.  He  had  come  to  never  expect  anything 


8        FIRST  PAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

else.  When  he  rose  up  to  make  a  speech  of 
thanks  to  the  "  boys  "  for  the  "  unexpected 
honor,"  and  broke  flat  down  after  two  or  three 
allusions  to  the  "  wonderful  climate  of  Cali- 
forny,"  he  was  perfectly  serene,  perfectly  con 
tent.  He  had  got  used  to  breaking  down,  and 
it  did  n't  hurt  him. 

He  used  to  say  to  his  friends  in  confidence 
that  he  certainly  would  have  made  a  great  poet 
had  he  begun  in  his  youth.  And  perhaps  he 
would,  for  he  was  certainly  fit  for  nothing  else 
under  the  sun. 

The  Forks  was  the  wildest  and  the  freshest 
bit  of  the  black-white,  fir-set,  and  snow-crowned 
Sierras  that  ever  the  Creator  gave,  new  from 
His  hand,  to  man. 

One  thousand  men  !  Not  a  woman,  not  a 
child,  down  in  that  canon  of  theirs,  so  deep 
that  the  sun  never  reached  them  in  the  Winter 
and  but  a  little  portion  of  the  day  in  Summer. 

Forests,  fir  and  pine,  in  the  canon,  and  out 
of  the  canon,  up  the  hills  and  up  the  mountains, 
black  and  dense,  till  they  broke  against  the 
colossal  granite  peaks  far  above  and  crowned  in 
everlasting  snow. 

Three  little  streams  came  tumbling  down 
here  from  the  snow  peaks  in  different  direc 
tions,  meeting  with  a  precision  which  showed 
that  they  knew  their  ways  perfectly  through 


IN  THE   FOBKS.  9 

the  woods  ;  and  from  this  little  union  of  waters 
the  camp  had  taken  the  name  of  "  The  Forks." 

They  had  no  law,  no  religion;  but,  for  all 
that,  the  men  were  not  bad.  It  is  true  they 
shot  and  stabbed  each  other  in  a  rather  reckless' 
manner ;  but  then  they  did  it  in  such  a  manly 
sort  of  a  way  that  but  little  of  the  curse  of 
Cain  was  supposed  to  follow. 

Maybe  it  was  because  life  was  so  desolate 
and  dreary  that  these  men  threw  it  away  so 
frequently,  and  with  such  refreshing  indiffer 
ence,  in  the  misunderstandings  at  the  Forks ; 
for,  after  all,  they  led  but  wretched  lives.  That 
vast  freedom  of  theirs  became  a  sort  of  desola 
tion. 

This  was  the  new  Eden.  It  was  so  new,  it 
was  still  damp.  You  could  smell  the  paint,  as 
it  were.  Man  had  just  arrived.  He  had  not 
yet  slept.  The  rib  had  not  yet  been  taken  from 
his  side.  He  was  alone.  Behold,  these  men 
went  up  and  down  the  earth,  naming  new 
things  and  possessing  them. 

Strong,  strange  men  met  there  from  the 
farthest  parts  of  the  world. 

Men  were  grandly  honest  there.  They  invari 
ably  left  gold  in  their  gold-pans  from  day  to 
day  open  in  the  claim  —  ounces,  pounds  of  it, 
thousands  of  dollars  to  be  had  for  the  taking 
up.  Locks  and  keys  were  unknown,  and,  when 


10       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

the  miner  went  down  to  the  Forks  on  Saturday 
night  to  settle  his  account,  he,  as  a  rule,  handed 
the  merchant  his  purse  and  let  him  weigh  what 
ever  amount  he  demanded,  without  question. 

When  the  great  Californian  novel  which  has 
been  prophesied  of,  and  for  which  the  literary 
world  seems  to  be  waiting,  comes  to  be  written, 
it  will  not  be  a  bit  popular.  And  that  is  be 
cause  every  true  Californian,  no  matter  how 
depraved  he  may  be,  somehow  has  somewhat  of 
the  hero  and  the  real  man  in  his  make-up.  And 
as  for  the  women  that  are  there,  they  are 
angels.  So  you  see  there  is  no  one  to  do  the 
business  of  the  heavy  villain. 

Sixty  miles  from  the  nearest  post  and  neigh 
boring  mining  camp,  it  was  utterly  cut  off  from 
communication  the  biggest  half  of  the  year  by 
impassable  mountains  of  snow. 

How  dark  it  was  down  there  !  The  earth  it 
seemed  had  been  cracked  open.  Then  it  seemed 
as  if  Nature  had  reached  out  a  hand,  smoothed 
down  the  ruggedest  places,  set  the  whole  in 
a  dense  and  sable  forest,  topt  the  mountains 
round  about  with  everlasting  snow,  then  reached 
it  on  to  man.  And  then  it  looked  as  if  man 
had  come  along  just  as  it  was  nearly  ready,  slid 
into  the  crack,  and  not  being  strong  enough  to 
get  out,  resolved  to  remain  there. 

The  wild  beasts  were  utterly  amazed.     In 


IN    THE    FOKKS.  11 

this  place  even  the  red  man  had  never  yet  set 
his  lodge.  Deep,  and  dark,  and  still.  Even 
the  birds  were  mute.  Great  snowy  clouds, 
white  as  the  peaks  about  which  they  twined, 
and  to  which  they  flew  like  flocks  of  birds  at 
night  to  rest,  would  droop  and  droop  through 
the  tops  of  tossing  pines,  and  all  the  steep  and 
stupendous  mountain  side  on  either  hand  glist 
ened  with  dew  and  rain  in  Summer,  or  glittered 
and  gleamed  in  mail  and  rime  of  frost  and  ice 
in  Winter. 

These  white,  foamy,  frightened  little  rivers 
ran  and  tumbled  together,  as  if  glad  to  get 
down  the  rugged,  rocky  mountain,  and  from 
under  the  deep  and  everlasting  shadows  of  fir, 
and  pine,  and  tamarack,  and  spruce,  and  ma- 
drona,  and  the  dark  sweeping  yew,  with  its 
beads  of  scarlet  berries.  They  fairly  shouted 
as  they  ran  and  leapt  into  the  open  bit  of  clear 
ing  at  the  Forks.  Perhaps  they  were  glad  to 
get  away  from  the  grizzlies  up  there,  and  were 
shouting  with  delight.  At  all  events,  they  rose 
together  here,  united  their  forces  in  the  friend 
liest  sort  of  manner,  and  so  moved  on  down 
together  with  a  great  deal  more  dignity  than 
before. 

You  see  it  was  called  the  Forks  simply  be 
cause  it  was  the  Forks.  In  California  things 
name  themselves,  or  rather  Nature  names  them, 


12         FIRST    F AM' LIES    OF    THE    SIERRAS. 

and  that  name  is  visibly  written  on  the  face  of 
things,  and  every  man  may  understand  who 
can  read. 

If  they  call  a  man  Smith  in  that  country  it  is 
simply  because  he  looks  as  if  he  ought  to  be 
called  Smith  —  Smith,  and  nothing  else. 

Now  there  was  Limber  Tim,  one  of  the  first 
and  best  men  of  all  the  thousand  bearded  and 
brawny  set  of  Missourians,  a  nervous,  weakly, 
sensitive  sort  of  a  fellow,  who  kept  always 
twisting  his  legs  and  arms  around  as  he  walked, 
or  talked,  or  tried  to  sit  still,  who  never  could 
face  anything  or  any  one  two  minutes  without 
flopping  over,  or  turning  around,  or  twisting 
about,  or  trying  to  turn  himself  wrong  side  out, 
and  of  course  anybody  instinctively  knew  his 
name  as  soon  as  he  saw  him. 

The  baptismal  name  of  Limber  Tim  was 
Thomas  Adolphus  Grosvenor.  And  yet  these 
hairy,  half-savage,  unread  Missourians,  who  had 
stopped  here  in  their  great  pilgrimage  of  the 
plains,  and  never  yet  seen  a  city,  or  the  sea,  or 
a  school-house,  or  a  church,  knew  perfectly 
well  that  there  was  a  mistake  in  this  matter  the 
moment  they  saw  him,  and  that  his  name  was 
Limber  Tim. 

It  is  pretty  safe  to  say  that  if  one  of  these 
wild  and  unread  Missourians  had  met  this  timid 
limber  man  meandering  down  the  mountain 


IN  THE   FORKS.  13 

trail  —  met  him,  I  mean,  for  the  first  time  in  all 
his  life,  without  ever  having  heard  of  him 
before  —  he  would  have  gone  straight  up  to 
him,  taken  him  by  the  hand,  and  shaking  it 
heartily,  said, 

"  How  d  'ye  do,  Limber  Tim  ?  " 

The  Forks  had  just  been  "  struck."  Some 
Missourians  had  slid  into  this  crack  in  the  earth, 
had  found  the  little  streams  full  of  gold,  and 
making  sure  that  they  had  not  been  followed, 
and,  like  Indians,  obliterating  all  signs  of  their 
trail,  they  went  out  slily  as  they  came,  struck 
the  great  stream  of  immigrants  from  the  plains, 
and  turned  the  current  of  their  friends  from 
Pike  into  this  crack  of  the  earth  till  it  flowed 
full,  and  there  was  room  for  no  more.  The 
Forks  was  at  once  a  little  Republic ;  a  sort  of 
San  Marino  without  a  patron  saint  or  a  single 
tower. 

A  thousand  men,  I  said,  and  not  a  single 
woman ;  that  is,  not  one  woman  who  was  what 
these  men  called  "  on  the  square."  Of  course, 
two  or  three  fallen  women,  soiled  doves,  had 
followed  the  fortunes  of  these  hardy  fellows 
into  the  new  camp,  but  they  were  in  some 
respects  worse  than  no  women  at  all. 

As  was  usual  with  these  fallen  angels,  they 
kept  the  camp,  or  certain  elements  in  the  camp, 
in  a  constant  state  of  uproar,  and  contributed 


14       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

more  to  the  rapid  filling-up  of  the  new  grave 
yard  up  on  the  hill  than  all  other  causes  put 
together.  The  fat  and  dirty  little  judge,  who 
really  wanted  to  keep  peace,  and  who  felt  that 
he  must  always  give  an  opinion,  when  asked 
why  it  was  that  the  boys  would  fight  so  dread 
fully  over  these  women,  and  kill  each  other, 
said,  "It  is  all  owing  to  this  glorious  climate  of 
Californy." 

The  truth  is,  they  fought  and  killed  each 
other,  and  kept  up  the  regular  Sunday  funeral 
all  Summer  through,  not  because  these  bad 
women  were  there,  but  because  the  good  women 
were  not  there.  Yet  possibly  "  the  glorious 
climate  of  Californy  "  had  a  bit  to  do  with  the 
hot  blood  of  the  men,  after  all. 


CHAPTER  II. 

LITTLE  BILLIE  PIPER. 

NOBODY  knew  when  he  came.  Perhaps 
nobody  cared.  He  was  the  smallest  man 
in  the  camp.  In  fact  he  was  not  a  man.  He 
was  only  a  boyish,  girlish-looking  creature  that 
came  and  went  at  will.  He  was  so  small  he 
crowded  no  one,  and  so  no  one  cried  out  about 
him,  or  paid  him  any  attention,  so  long  as  they 
were  all  busily  taking  possession  of  and  measur 
ing  off  the  new  Eden. 

What  a  shy,  sensitive,  girlish-looking  man ! 
His  boyish  face  was  beautiful,  dreamy  and  child 
ish.  It  was  sometimes  half-hidden  in  a  cloud 
of  yellow  hair  that  fell  down  about  it,  and  was 
always  being  pushed  back  by  a  small  white 
hand,  that  looked  helpless  enough,  in  the  battle 
of  life  among  these  bearded  and  brawny  men 
on  the  edge  of  the  new  world. 

He  had  a  little  bit  of  a  cabin  on  the  hillside, 
not  far  way  from  the  Forks,  and  lived  alone. 
This  living  alone  was  always  rated  to  be  a  bad 
sign.  It  was  counted  selfish.  Few  men  lived 

15 


16       FIKST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIEKBAS. 

alone  in  the  mines.  In  fact  the  cabins  in  the 
mines  were  generally  jammed  and  crowded  as 
tight  with  men  as  if  they  had  been  little  tin 
boxes  packed  with  sardines. 

When  the  bees  in  this  new  and  busy  hive 
began  to  settle  down  to  their  work ;  when  they 
in  fact  got  a  little  of  the  hurry  and  flurry  of 
their  own  affairs  a  little  off  their  minds,  and  they 
had  a  bit  of  time  to  look  into  the  affairs  of 
others,  they  began  to  reflect  that  no  man  had 
ever  entered  this  little  cabin. 

Cabins  in  the  mines  in  those  days  were  gen 
erally  open  to  all.  "  The  latch  string,"  to  use 
the  expression  of  the  Sierras,  hung  on  the  out 
side  to  strangers.  But  this  one  peculiar  cabin 
had  no  "latch-string  "  for  any  man. 

Men  began  to  get  curious.  I  assert  that  curi 
osity  is  not  the  monopoly  of  sex.  One  Sunday 
some  half  idle  and  wholly  inquisitive  men  went 
up  to  this  cabin  as  they  passed  in  the  trail,  which 
ran  hard  by,  and  asked  for  a  drink  of  water. 

A  little  hand  brought  a  dipper  of  water  to  the 
door.  A  boy  face  lifted  up  timidly  to  the  great 
bearded  men  from  Missouri  as  they  in  turn 
drank  and  passed  the  big  tin  dipper  from  one 
to  the  other  till  it  was  drained  ;  then  the  little 
hand  took  the  dipper  back  again  and  disap 
peared,  while  the  men,  half  ashamed  and  wholly 
confounded,  stumbled  on  up  the  trail. 


LITTLE  BILLIE  PIPER.  17 

The  boy  had  been  so  civil,  so  shy,  so  modest, 
and  yet,  when  occasion  offered,  so  kind  withal, 
that  few  could  refuse  to  be  his  friends ;  and  now 
he  had,  only  by  lifting  his  eyes,  won  over  this 
knot  of  half-vulgar,  half-ruffianly  fellows  wholly 
to  his  side. 

Once  the  saloon-keeper,  the  cinnamon-haired 
man  of  the  Howling  Wilderness,  as  the  one 
whisky  shop  of  this  New  Eden  was  called,  met 
him  on  the  trail  as  he  was  going  out  with  a  pick 
and  shovel  on  his  shoulder,  to  prospect  for  gold. 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  boy  ?  " 

"Billie  Piper." 

The  timid  brown  eyes  looked  up  through  the 
cluster  of  yellow  curls,  as  the  boy  stepped 
aside  to  let  the  big  man  pass ;  and  the  two,  with 
out  other  words,  went  on  their  ways. 

Oddly  enough  they  allowed  this  boy  to  keep 
his  name.  They  called  him  Little  Billie  Piper. 

He  was  an  enigma  to  the  miners.  Sometimes 
he  looked  to  be  only  fifteen.  Then  again  he 
was  very  thoughtful.  The  fair  brow  was 
wrinkled  sometimes ;  there  were  lines,  sabre 
cuts  of  time,  on  the  fair  delicate  face,  and  then 
he  looked  to  be  at  least  double  that  age. 

He  worked,  or  at  least  he  went  out  to  work, 

every  day  with  his  pick  and  pan  and  shovel ; 

but  almost  always  they  saw  him  standing  by 

the  running  stream,  looking  into   the   water, 

2 


18       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

dreaming,  seeing  in  Nature's  mirror  the  snowy 
clouds  that  blew  in  moving  mosaic  overhead 
and  through  and  over  the  tops  of  the  tossing 
firs. 

He  rarely  spoke  to  the  men  more  than  in 
monosyllables.  Yet  when  he  did  speak  to  them 
his  language  was  so  refined,  so  far  above  their 
common  speech,  and  his  voice  was  so  soft,  and 
his  manner  so  gentle  that  they  saw  in  him,  in 
some  sort,  a  superior. 

Yet  Limber  Tim,  the  boy-man,  came  pretty 
near  to  this  boy's  life.  At  least  he  stood  nearer 
to  his  heart  than  any  one.  Their  lives  were 
nearer  the  same  level.  One  Sunday  they  stood 
together  on  the  hill  by  the  grave-yard  above  the 
Forks. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  the  boy,  laying  his  hand  on 
the  arm  of  his  companion,  and  looking  earnestly 
and  sadly  in  his  face,  "  Tell  me,  Tim,  why  it  is 
that  they  always  have  the  grave-yard  on  a  hill. 
Is  it  because  it  is  a  little  nearer  to  heaven  ?  " 

His  companion  did  not  understand.  And  yet 
he  did  understand,  and  was  silent. 

They  sat  down  together  by  and  by  and  looked 
up  out  of  the  great  canon  at  the  drifting  white 
clouds,  and  the  boy  said,  looking  into  heaven, 
as  if  to  himself, 

"0 !  fleets  of  clouds  that  flee  before 
The  burly  winds  of  upper  seas." 


LITTLE   BILLIE   PIPER.  19 

Then  as  the  sudden  twilight  fell  and  they 
went  down  the  hill  together,  the  white  crooked 
moon,  as  if  it  had  just  been  broken  from  off 
the  snow  peak  that  it  had  been  hiding  behind, 
came  out  with  a  star. 

"  How  the  red  star  hangs  to  the  moon's 
white  horn." 

There  was  no  answer,  for  his  companion  was 
awed  to  utter  silence. 

One  day,  Bunker  Hill,  a  humped-back  and 
unhappy  woman  of  uncertain  ways,  passed 
through  the  crowd  in  the  Forks.  Some  of  the 
rough  men  laughed  and  made  remarks.  This 
boy  was  there  also.  Lifting  his  eyes  to  one  of 
these  men  at  his  side,  he  said : 

"  God  has  made  some  women  a  little  plain,  in 
order  that  he  might  have  some  women  that  are 
wholly  good." 

These  things  began  to  be  noised  about.  All 
things  have  their  culmination.  Even  the  epi 
zootic  has  one  worst  day.  Things  only  go  so 
far.  Rockets  only  rise  so  high,  then  they 
explode,  and  all  is  dark  and  still. 

The  Judge  stood  straddled  out  before  the  roar 
ing  fire  of  the  Howling  Wilderness  one  night, 
tilting  up  the  tails  of  his  coat  with  his  two 
hands  which  he  had  turned  in  behind  him,  as  he 
stood  there  warming  the  upper  ends  of  his  short 
legs,  and  listening  to  these  questions  and  the 


20       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

comments  of  the  men.  At  last,  he  seemed  to 
have  an  inspiration,  and  tilting  forward  on  his 
toes,  and  bringing  his  head  very  low  down,  and 
his  coat-tails  very  high  up,  he  said,  solemnly : 

"Fellow-citizens,  it's  a  poet." 

Then  bringing  out  his  right  hand,  and  reach 
ing  it  high  in  the  air,  as  he  poised  on  his  right 
leg: 

"  In  this  glorious  climate  of  Californy — " 

"  Be  gad,  it  is  !  "  cried  an  Irishman,  jumping 
up,  "  a  Bryan !  A  poet,  a  rale,  live,  Lord 
O'Bryan." 

And  so  the  status  of  the  strange  boy  was 
fixed  at  the  Forks.  He  was  declared  to  be  a 
poet,  and  was  no  more  a  wonder.  Curiosity 
was  satisfied. 

"  It  is  something  to  know  that  it  is  no  worse," 
growled  a  very  practical  old  man,  as  he  held 
a  pipe  in  his  teeth  and  rubbed  his  tobacco 
between  his  palms. 

He  spoke  of  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  case  of  the 
small-pox,  and  as  if  he  was  thinking  how  to 
best  prevent  the  spread  of  the  infection. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  FIBST  WOMAN  IN  THE  FORKS. 

ONE  day  Limber  Tim  came  up  from  the 
Howling  Wilderness,  all  excitement:  all 
gyrations,  and  gimlets,  and  corkscrews.  He 
twisted  himself  around  a  sapling  —  this  great, 
overgrown,  six-foot  boy  without  a  beard  —  and 
shouting  down  to  his  "  pardner  "  in  the  mine, 
Old  Sandy,  who  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  open 
claim,  leaning  on  his  pick,  resting  a  moment, 
looking  into  the  bright  bubbling  water  that 
burst  laughing  from  the  bank  before  him,  dream 
ing  a  bit  in  the  freshness  about  him ;  and  said, 
"  Hallo !  I  say !  a  widder's  come  to  town. 
D  'ye  hear  ?  A  widder  ;  one  what 's  up  and 
up,  and  on  the  square." 

Sandy  only  looked  up,  for  he  was  getting  old, 
and  gray,  and  wrinkled.  Then  he  looked  at 
the  silver  stream  that  ran  from  the  bank  and 
through  the  rocks  at  his  feet,  and  called  to  him 
in  the  pleasant,  balmy  sunset,  sweet  with  the 
smell  of  fir,  and  he  did  not  disturb  the  water 
again  with  his  pick.  It  looked  too  pretty, 

21 


22       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

laughed,  and   sparkled,  and  leapt,  and  made 
him  glad  and  yet  sad. 

A  poet  was  this  man  Sandy,  a  painter,  a 
sculptor,  a  mighty  moralist ;  a  man  who  could 
not  write  his  name. 

He  laid  down  his  pick,  for  the  sun  was  just 
pitching  his  last  lances  at  the  snow-peaks  away 
up  yonder  above  the  firs,  above  the  clouds,  and 
night  was  coming  down  with  steady  steps  to 
possess  this  chasm  in  the  earth. 

Limber  Tim  untwisted  himself  from  the  sap 
ling  as  Sandy  came  up  from  the  mine,  twisting 
his  great  shaggy  beard  with  his  right  hand, 
while  he  carried  his  black  slouch  hat  in  his  left, 
and  the  two  sauntered  on  toward  their  cabin 
together,  while  Sandy's  great  gum  boots  whet 
ted  together  as  he  walked. 

The  "  Parson  "  was  in  a  neighboring  cabin 
when  it  was  announced  that  the  first  woman 
had  come  to  the  camp.  The  intelligence  was 
received  in  a  profound  silence. 

There  was  a  piece  of  looking-glass  tacked  up 
over  the  fire-place  of  this  cabin. 

Old  Baldy  whistled  a  little  air,  and  walked 
up  to  this  glass,  sidewise,  silently,  and  stood 
there  smoothing  down  his  beard. 

"  Ginger  blue ! "  cried  the  Parson,  at  last, 
bounding  up  from  his  bench,  and  throwing  out 
his  arms,  as  if  throwing  the  words  from  the  ends 


THE   FIRST   WOMAN   IN  THE   FORKS.         23 

of  his  lingers.  "  Ginger  blue  !  hell-ter-flicker !  " 
And  here  he  danced  around  the  cabin  in  a  ter 
rible  state  of  excitement,  to  the  tune  of  a  string 
of  iron-clad  oaths  that  fell  like  chain-shot. 
They  called  him  the  Parson,  because  it  was 
said  he  could  outswear  any  man  in  the  camp, 
and  that  was  saying  a  great  deal,  wonderful  as 
were  his  achievements  in  this  line. 

After  the  announcement,  every  one  of  the 
ten  men  there  took  a  look  at  the  little  triangular 
fragment  of  looking-glass  that  was  tacked  up 
over  the  fire-place. 

The  arrival  of  Eve  in  Paradise  was  certainly 
an  event ;  but  she  came  too  early  in  the  world's 
history  to  create  much  sensation. 

Stop  here,  and  fancy  the  arrival  of  the  first 
woman  on  earth  to-day  —  in  this  day  of  com 
mittees,  conventions,  brass-band  receptions,  and 
woman's  rights ! 

You  imagine  a  princess  had  come  to  camp, 
a  good  angel,  with  song  and  harps,  or,  at  the 
least,  carpet-bags,  and  extended  crinoline,  water 
falls,  and  false  hair,  a  pack-train  of  Saratoga 
trunks,  and  all  the  adjuncts  of  civilization. 
Not  at  all.  She  had  secured  a  cabin,  by  some 
accident,  very  near  to  that  of  the  boy  poet,  and 
settled  down  there  quietly  to  go  to  work. 

Yes,  Limber  Tim  had  "  seed  "  her.  She  had 
ridden  the  bell  mule  of  the  pack-train  down 


24          FIRST   FAMILIES   OF  THE   SIERRAS. 

the  mountain  and  into  town.  He  told  how  the 
hats  went  up  in  the  air  from  in  and  about  the 
Howling  Wilderness,  and  how  the  boys  had 
gone  up  in  rows  to  the  broken  looking-glass  in 
the  new  barber-shop,  and  how  some  had  even 
polished  their  bowie-knives  on  their  boots,  and 
sat  down  and  tried  to  see  themselves  in  the 
shining  blade,  and  adjust  their  dress  accordingly. 

In  a  little  time  Sandy  bent  silently  over  the 
table  in  the  cabin,  and  with  his  sleeves  rolled 
up  high  on  his  great  hairy  arms,  and  kneaded 
away  at  the  dough  in  the  gold  pan  in  silence, 
while  Limber  Tim  wrestled  nervously  with  the 
frying-pan  by  the  fire. 

"  Is  she  purty,  Limber?  " 

"  Purty,  Sandy  ?  She 's  purtier  nur  a  spotted 
dog." 

Sandy  sighed,  for  he  felt  that  there  was  little 
hope  for  him,  and  again  fell  into  a  moody 
silence. 

There  was  a  run  that  night  on  the  little  Jew 
shop  at  the  corner  of  the  Howling  Wilderness. 
Before  midnight  the  little  kinky-headed  Israel 
ite  had  not  a  shirt,  collar,  or  handkerchief,  or 
white  fabric  of  any  kind  whatever  in  the  shop. 

It  might  have  been  a  bit  of  first-class  and 
old-fashioned  chivalry  that  had  lain  dormant  in 
these  great  hairy  breasts,  or  it  might  have  been 
their  strict  regard  for  the  appropriateness  of 


THE  FIRST   WOMAN   IN   THE  FORKS.         25 

names  that  made  these  men  at  once  call  her  the 
"  Widder ;  "  or  it  might  have  been  some  sudden 
revelation,  a  sort  of  inspiration,  given  to  the 
first  man  who  saw  her  as  she  rode  down  the 
mountain  into  camp,  or  the  first  man  who  spoke 
of  her  as  she  rode  blushing  through  their  midst 
with  her  pretty  face  held  modestly  down  ;  but  be 
all  that  as  it  may,  certainly  there  was  no  design, 
no  delay,  no  hesitation  about  it  from  the  first. 
And  yet  the  appellation  was  singularly  appro 
priate,  and  perhaps  suggested  to  this  poor,  lone 
little  woman,  daring  to  cross  the  mountains,  and 
to  come  down  into  this  great  chasm  of  the 
earth,  among  utter  strangers,  the  conduct  of  her 
life. 

The  first  woman  came  unheralded.  Like  all 
good  things  on  earth,  she  came  quietly  as  a 
snowflake  down  in  their  midst,  without  ado  or 
demonstration. 

Who  she  was  or  where  she  came  from  no  one 
seemed  to  know.  Perhaps  the  propriety  of 
questioning  occurred  to  some  of  the  men  of  the 
camp,  but  it  never  found  expression.  I  had 
rather  say,  however,  that  when  they  found 
there  was  a  real  live  woman  in  camp,  a  decent 
woman,  who  was  willing  to  work  and  take  her 
place  beside  the  men  in  the  great  battle  —  bear 
her  part  in  the  common  curse  which  demands 
that  we  shall  toil  to  eat,  they  quietly  accepted 


26       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

the  fact,  as  men  do  the  fact  of  the  baby's 
arrival,  without  any  question  whatever. 

This  was  not  really  the  first  woman  to  come 
into  the  camp  of  this  thousand  of  bearded  men  ; 
and  yet  it  was  the  first.  There  were  now  five 
or  six,  maybe  more,  down  at  the  Forks  —  some 
from  Sydney,  some  from  New  Orleans  —  waifs 
of  the  foam,  painted  children  of  passion. 

I  am  not  disposed  to  put  all  these  women  in 
the  catalogue  of  saints.  They  were  very  devils, 
some  of  them. 

These  women  set  man  against  man,  and  that 
Winter  made  many  a  crimson  place  in  the  great 
snow  banks  in  the  streets.  They  started  the 
first  graveyard  at  the  Forks ;  and  kept  it 
recruited  too,  every  holiday,  and  almost  every 
Sunday. 

True,  they  did  some  good.  I  do  not  deny 
that.  For  example,  I  have  in  my  mind  now 
the  picture  of  one,  Bunker  Hill,  holding  the 
head  of  a  brave  young  fellow,  shot  through  the 
temple,  his  long  black  hair  in  strings  and 
streaming  with  blood.  She  held  him  so  till  he 
died  ;  and  mourned  and  would  not  be  separated 
from  him  while  a  hope  or  a  breath  remained  — 
the  blood  on  her  hands,  on  her  face,  all  over 
her  costly  silks  and  lace,  and  on  the  floor. 

Then  she  had  him  buried  elegantly  as  pos 
sible  ;  sent  for  a  preacher  away  over  to  Yreka 


THE   FIRST   WOMAN   IN   THE  FORKS.         27 

to  say  the  funeral  service;  put  evergreens  about 
his  grave,  and  refused  to  be  comforted. 

All  this  was  very  beautiful  —  a  touch  of  ten 
derness  in  it  all ;  but  it  was  spoiled  by  the 
reflection  that  she  had  allured  and  almost  forced 
the  fellow  into  the  fight,  in  hopes  of  reveng 
ing  herself  on  the  man  whom  she  hated,  and 
by  whose  hand  he  had  to  fall. 

There  was  another  woman  there  who  was 
very  benevolent  —  in  fact,  they  all  were  liberal 
with  their  money,  and  were  the  first  and  freest 
to  bestow  upon  the  needy.  This  woman  was 
a  Mexican  —  from  Durango,  I  think  ;  and  her 
name  was  Dolores.  Gentle  in  her  manner, 
patient,  sad ;  not  often  in  the  difficulties  that 
distinguished  the  others ;  but  generally  alone, 
and  by  far  the  best  liked  of  all  these  poor  Mag- 
dalens.  This  good  nature  of  hers  made  her 
most  accessible,  and  so  she  was  most  sought  for 
deeds  of  charity.  Toward  Spring  it  was  said 
she  was  ill  ;  but  no  one  seemed  to  know,  or 
maybe  no  one  cared. 

If  you  will  stop  here  to  consider,  it  will 
occur  to  you  that  it  is  a  man's  disposition  to 
avoid  a  sick  woman  ;  but  a  woman's  disposition 
to  seek  out  a  sick  man  and  nurse  him  back  to 
health.  This  being  true,  here  is  a  text  for  the 
Sorosis. 

A  bank  had  caved  on  a  man  —  only  a  pros- 


FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

pecter,  a  German,  who  lived  away  in  a  little 
cabin  on  the  hillside  —  and  crushed  him  fright 
fully.  The  man  was  penniless  and  alone,  and 
help  had  to  come  from  the  camp. 

Some  one  went  to  Dolores.  She  was  in  her 
room  or  cabin,  out  a  little  way  from  any  one, 
alone  and  ill,  sitting  up  in  bed,  looking  "  wild 
enough,"  as  the  man  afterwards  stated.  He 
told  her  what  had  happened.  She  leaned  her 
head  on  her  hand  a  moment,  and  then  lifted  it, 
looked  up,  and  drew  a  costly  ring  from  her 
finger,  the  only  one  on  her  pale,  thin  hand,  and 
gave  it  to  the  man,  who  hurried  away  to  get 
other  aid  elsewhere. 

Now  there  was  nothing  very  odd  or  unusual 
in  a  woman  giving  a  ring.  That  was  often  done, 
In  fact,  there  was  scarcely  any  coin  on  the 
Creek.  In  cases  of  this  kind  a  man  generally 
gave  the  biggest  nugget  or  specimen  he  had  in 
his  pocket,  a  ring  if  he  could  not  do  better, 
sometimes  a  six-shooter,  and  so  on,  and  let 
them  make  the  best  of  it,  but  always  some 
thing,  if  that  something  was  possible.  Let  this 
be  said  and  remembered  of  these  brave  old  men 
of  the  mountains. 

A  few  days  after  this,  it  came  out  that 
Dolores  was  dead.  Then  it  was  whispered  that 
she  had  starved  to  death.  This  last  was  said 
with  a  sort  of  a  shudder.  It  came  out  with  a 


THE  FIRST   WOMAN   IN   THE  FORKS.         29 

struggle  between  the  teeth,  as  if  the  men  were 
afraid  to  say  it. 

On  investigation,  it  was  found  that  the  poor 
woman  had  been  ill  some  time,  had  lost  her 
bloom  and  freshness  ;  and  what  becomes  of  a 
woman  of  this  kind,  who  has  no  money,  when 
she  has  lost  her  bloom  and  strength  ?  never  had 
much  money,  always  gave  it  away  to  the  needy 
as  fast  as  she  got  it,  and  so  had  nothing  to  fight 
the  world  with  when  she  fell  ill. 

Then  the  man  with  the  rent,  the  lord  of  the 
log  cabin  —  a  cross  between  a  Shyloek-Jew 
and  a  flint-faced  Yankee  —  took  her  rings  and 
jewels,  one  by  one.  The  baker  grew  exacting, 
a'nd  finally  the  butcher  refused  to  bring  her 
meat.  And  that  was  all  there  was  of  it.  That 
was  the  end. 

That  butcher  never  succeeded  there  after 
that.  Some  one  wrote  "  Small  Pox  "  over  his 
shop  every  night  for  a  month,  and  it  was 
shunned  like  a  pest-house.  But  all  that  did 
not  bring  poor  Dolores  back  to  life.  The  ring 
was  an  antique  gold,  with  a  costly  stone,  and  a 
Spanish  name,  which  showed  her  to  have  been 
of  good  family.  A  wedding  ring. 

But  this  woman,  however,  was  an  exception, 
and  at  best,  when  in  health,  save  her  generous 
and  sympathetic  nature,  was  probably  no  angel. 

One  of   these  meddlesome  men,  a  hungry, 


30       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

lean,  unsatisfied  fellow  ;  a  man  with  a  nose 
sharp  and  inquisitive  enough  to  open  a  cast-iron 
cannon  ball,  said  one  night  to  a  knot  of  men  at 
the  Howling  Wilderness  saloon  : 

"  Why  widder  ?  why  call  her  the  widder  ? 
who  knows  that  she  was  ever  married  at  all  ?  " 

A  man  silently  and  slowly  arose  at  this,  and 
firmly  doubled  up  his  fist.  He  stood  there 
towering  above  that  fellow,  and  looking  down 
upon  that  sharp  inquisitive  nose  as  if  he  wanted 
to  drive  it  back  into  the  middle  of  his  head. 

"But  maybe  she's  a  maid,"  answered  the 
terrified  nose  in  haste  and  fear. 

The  other  sat  down,  slowly  and  silently,  as 
he  had  risen,  and  perfectly  satisfied  that  no 
insult  had  been  intended.  This  was  Sandy. 

The  Judge  was  there,  and  as  the  conversa 
tion  had  fallen  through  by  this  man's  remark, 
he  felt  called  upon  to  resume  it  in  a  friendly 
sort  of  a  way,  and  said : 

"  No,  no,  she  's  not  a  maid,  I  reckon,  not  an 
old  maid."  He  scratched  his  bald  head  above 
his  ear  and  went  on,  for  the  big  man  at  his  side 
began  to  double  up  his  knuckles.  "  I  should 
say  she  's  a  widder.  You  see,  the  maids  never 
gits  this  far.  They  seem  to  spile  first." 

The  Judge  spoke  as  if  talking  of  a  sort  of 
pickled  oyster  or  smoked  ham. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SUNDAY  IN  THE  SIERRAS. 

NEVER  did  the  press  feed  on  a  political 
war,  or  a  calumniated  poet,  as  these  men 
of  the  Howling  Wilderness  fed  on  this  one 
woman  of  the  Forks. 

Yet  let  it  be  remembered  they  always,  and 
to  a  man,  with  scarce  an  exception,  spoke  of 
her  with  the  profoundest  respect.  Few  of  them 
had  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her,  fewer  still 
of  speaking  to  her,  yet  she  was  the  ever-present 
topic.  Even  the  weather  in  a  London  Winter 
is  hardly  more  popular  a  theme,  than  was  the 
Widow  when  they  met  in  knots  in  the  little 
town  after  the  day's  work  was  over. 

The  brave,  silent,  modest  little  woman  had 
put  her  hands  to  the  plow  at  once.  These  men 
knew  perfectly  well  that  honest  people  had  no 
business  there  but  to  work  ;  and  when  her  little 
hands,  that  did  not  look  at  all  as  if  they  had 
been  used  to  toil,  took  hold  of  the  hard  fact  of 
life,  and  the  little  face  bent  above  the  wash-tub, 
and  the  fine  white  brow  glistened  with  a  dia- 

31 


32       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

dem  of  diamonds  that  grew  there  as  a  price  for 
bread,  they  loved  her  to  a  man. 

What  strange  savage  scenes  were  enacted 
here  before  the  arrival  of  this  one  good  woman. 
Every  Saturday  night  was  a  sort  of  carnival 
of  death.  Men  went  about  from  drinking-shop 
to  drinking-shop,  howling  like  Modocs,  swinging 
their  pistols,  proclaiming  themselves  chiefs,  and 
seeking  for  bloody  combat.  They  gave  the 
country  a  name  and  a  reputation  in  this  first 
year  of  gold  mining  in  the  Sierras  that  will 
survive  them  every  one. 

On  Sunday  the  scene  was  somewhat  changed. 
With  all  their  savagery  and  wildness  and  non 
sense,  it  was  always  understood  that  the  work 
of  the  week  must  go  on,  and  Sunday  was  the 
great  day  of  preparation. 

Sunday  was  not  a  day  of  rest.  It  is  true 
the  miners  slept  a  little  later  on  Sunday 
morning,  but  Sunday  was  to  all  a  day  of  terror 
and  petty  troubles  beyond  measure.  It  always 
came  to  some  one's  turn,  every  Sunday  morning, 
in  every  mess  or  cabin,  to  begin  his  week's 
cooking  for  his  mess,  and  for  that  reason,  if  for 
no  other,  there  was  at  least  one  man  miserable 
in  every  cabin  whenever  the  dreaded  Sunday 
came. 

Then  there  was  the  mending  of  clothes ! 
Mercy !  Great  big  hairy  men  sitting  up  and 


SUNDAY   IN    THE    SIERRAS.  33 

out  on  the  hillside  with  their  backs  up  against 
the  pines,  sitting  there  out  of  sight,  half  naked, 
stitching,  stitching,  stitching,  and  swearing  at 
every  stitch. 

But  the  great  and  terrible  event  of  Sunday, 
before  the  Widow  came,  was  the  washing  of 
clothes.  Neither  love  nor  money  could  induce 
any  one  save  the  uncertain  -little  Chinaman  to 
undertake  this  task  for  them,  before  the  arrival 
of  the  Widow.  Therefore  when  Sunday  came 
these  men  went  down  in  line,  silently  and 
solemnly,  to  the  little  mountain  stream  (allowed 
to  rest  and  run  clear  and  crystal-like  on  Sun 
day),  and  stood  in  a  row  along  its  banks,  in 
top-boots,  duck  breeches,  red  shirts,  and  great 
broad  hats.  Then,  at  a  word,  each  man  laid 
aside  his  hat,  undid  the  bosom  of  his  shirt, 
straightened  his  arms,  and  drew  his  shirt  up 
and  over  his  head,  and  then  fastened  his  belt, 
and  squatted  by  the  stream,  and  rubbed  and 
rubbed  and  rubbed.  Brawny -muscled  men, 
nude  above  the  waist,  "  naked  and  not 
ashamed,"  hairy-breasted  and  bearded,  noble, 
kingly  men  —  miners  washing  their  shirts  in  a 
mountain-stream  of  the  Sierras.  Thoughtful, 
earnest,  splendid  men!  Boughs  above  them, 
pine-tops  toying  with  the  sun  that  here  and 
there  reached  through  like  fingers  pointing  at 
them  from  the  far,  pure  purple  of  the  sky. 


34        FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIEKRAS. 

And  a  stillness  so  profound,  perfect,  holy  as  a 
temple  !     Nature  knows  her  Sabbath. 

1  would  give  more  for  a  painting  of  this  scene 
—  that  sun,  that  sky  and  wood,  the  water  there, 
the  brave,  strong  men,  the  thinkers  and  the 
workers  there,  nude  and  natural,  silent  and 
sincere,  bending  to  their  work  —  than  for  all 
the  battle  scenes  that  could  be  hung  upon  a 
palace  wall.  When  the  great  man  comes,  the 
painter  of  the  true  and  great,  these  men  will 
be  remembered. 

It  is  said  that  Diogenes,  when  he  saw  a  boy 
drinking  water  from  his  hand,  scooped  up  from 
the  stream,  threw  away  his  cup,  the  last  utensil 
he  had  retained. 

This  shirt-washing  went  on  in  some  camps 
for  years.  These  men  were  compelled  to  study 
simplicity,  and  did  from  necessity  nearly  what 
the  cynic  did  from  caprice.  Where  every  man 
had  to  carry  his  effects  on  his  back  for  days  and 
days,  through  steep  and  rugged  paths,  an  extra 
garment  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  Men  got 
used  to  the  one-shirt  system,  and  seemed  to 
like  it.  Some  stuck  to  it  with  a  tenacity  hardly 
respectful  to  the  near  approach  of  civilization. 

Once  upon  a  time,  to  coin  a  new  beginning, 
a  younger  brother  came  out  to  visit  one  of  these 
brave  old  miners,  now  gray  and  grizzled,  but 
true  to  his  old  traditions  and  habits  of  life.  He 


SUNDAY   IN   THE   SIERRAS.  35 

called  on  him  on  Sunday,  entered  his  cabin,  and 
found  him  covered  in  his  blankets. 

"  What,  my  brother,  are  you  sick?  "  said  he, 
after  the  first  salutations  and  embraces  were 
exchanged. 

"  Sick  !     No,  not  sick." 

"  Then  why  are  you  in  bed  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  washed  my  shirt  to-day  and  got  in 
bed  to  let  it  dry." 

"  Why  !  Have  n't  you  got  but  the  one  shirt  ?  " 

"  But  the  one  shirt !  No  !  Do  you  think  a 
man  wants  a  thousand  shirts?" 

These  men  were  mostly  shy  with  their  letters 
and  their  tales  of  love.  That  was  sacred 
ground,  upon  which  no  strange,  rude  feet 
could  pass.  No  gold-hunter  there,  perhaps,  but 
had  his  love  —  his  one  only  love,  without  a 
chance  or  possibility  of  changing  the  object  of 
his  devotion,  even  if  he  had  desired  it.  Men 
must  love  as  well  as  women.  It  is  the  most 
natural  and,  consequently,  the  most  proper 
thing  on  earth.  Imagine  how  intensified  and 
how  tender  a  man's  devotion  would  become 
under  circumstances  like  these.  The  one  image 
in  his  heart,  the  one  hope — HER.  So  much 
time  to  think,  bending  to  the  work  in  the  run 
ning  water  under  the  trees,  on  the  narrow  trail 
beneath  the  shadows  of  the  forest,  by  the  camp 
and  cabin-fire,  her  face  and  hers  only,  with  no 


36          FIRST  FAMILIES   OF  THE   SIERKAS. 

new  face  rising  up,  crossing  his  path,  confront 
ing  him  for  days,  for  months,  for  years  —  see 
how  holy  a  thing  his  love  would  grow  to  be. 
This,  you  observe,  is  a  new  man,  a  new  manner 
of  lover.  Love,  I  say,  is  a  requirement,  a  ne 
cessity.  It  is  as  necessary  for  a  complete  man 
to  love  as  it  is  for  him  to  breathe  pure  air.  And 
it  is  as  natural. 

These  men,  being  so  far  removed  from  any 
personal  contact  with  the  objects  of  their  affec 
tions,  and  only  now  and  then  at  long  intervals 
receiving  letters,  all  marked  and  re-marked 
across  the  backs  from  the  remailings  from  camp 
to  camp,  of  course  knew  of  no  interruptions 
in  the  current  of  their  devotion,  and  loved  in  a 
singularly  earnest  and  sincere  way.  I  doubt  if 
there  be  anything  like  it  in  history. 

When  men  go  to  war,  they  have  the  glory 
and  excitement  of  battle  to  allure  them,  then 
the  eyes  of  many  women  are  upon  them  ;  they 
are  not  locked  up  like  these  men  of  the  Sierras, 
with  only  their  work  and  the  one  thing  to  think 
of.  When  they  go  to  sea,  sailors  find  new  faces 
in  every  port ;  but  these  men,  from  the  time 
they  crossed  the  Missouri  or  left  the  Atlantic 
coast,  had  known  no  strange  gods,  hardly  heard 
a  woman's  voice,  till  they  returned. 

But  let  us  return  to  this  one  firm  first  woman, 
who  had  come  into  camp  and  taken  at  once 


SUNDAY   IN   THE   SIERRAS.  37 

upon  her  shoulders  the  task  of  washing  and 
mending  the  miners'  clothes. 

Men,  even  the  most  bloated  and  besotted, 
walked  as  straight  as  possible  up  the  trail  that 
led  by  the  Widow's  cabin,  as  they  passed  that 
way  at  night ;  and  kept  back  their  jokes  and 
war-whoops  till  far  up  the  creek  and  out  of 
her  hearing  in  the  pines. 

A  general  improvement  was  noticed  in  all  who 
dwelt  in  sight  or  hearing  of  her  cabin.  In  fact, 
that  portion  of  the  creek  became  a  sort  of  West 
End,  and  cabin  rent  went  up  in  that  vicinity. 
Men  were  made  better,  gentler.  No  doubt  of 
that.  If,  then,  one  plain  woman,  rude  herself 
by  nature,  can  do  so  much,  what  is  not  left  for 
gentle  and  cultured  woman,  who  is  or  should  be 
the  true  missionary  of  the  West  —  the  world  ? 

A  woman's  weakness  is  her  strength, 

She  was  tall,  gentle,  genial  too,  and  soon  a 
favorite  with  her  many,  many  patrons.  She 
had  a  scar  on  the  left  side  of  her  face,  they  said, 
reaching  from  the  chin  to  the  cheek ;  but  with 
a  woman's  tact,  she  always  kept  her  right  side 
to  her  company,  and  the  scar  was  not  always 
noticed. 

What  had  been  her  history,  what  troubles 
she  had  had,  what  tempests  she  had  stood 
against,  or  what  great  storm  had  blown  this 
solitary  woman  far  into  the  great  black  sea  of 


38  FIRST   FAMILIES   OF   THE   SIERRAS. 

firs  that  belts  about  and  lies  in  the  shadow  of 
the  Sierras,  like  a  lone  white  sea-dove  you  some 
times  find  far  out  in  the  China  seas,  no  man 
knew  ;  and,  be  it  said  to  the  credit  of  the  Forks, 
no  man  cared  to  inquire. 

This  meeting  together,  this  coming  and  going 
of  thousands  of  men  from  all  parts  of  the  earth, 
where  each  man  stood  on  the  character  he  made 
there  in  a  day,  deadened  curiosity,  perhaps. 

At  all  events,  you  can  go,  a  stranger,  to-day, 
any  where  along  the  Pacific,  and,  if  your  charac 
ter  indicates  the  gentleman,  you  are  accepted 
as  such,  and  no  man  cares  to  ask  of  your  ante 
cedents.  A  convenient  thing,  I  grant,  for 
many ;  but,  nevertheless,  a  good  thing,  and  a 
correct  thing  for  any  country. 

The  old  Jewish  law  of  every  seven  years 
forgiving  each  man  his  debt  was  an  age  in 
advance  of  our  laws  of  to-day  ;  and,  if  any 
means  could  be  devised  by  which  every  seven 
years  to  forgive  all  men  their  offences,  and  let 
them  begin  life  anew  all  together,  an  even  start, 
it  would  be  better  still. 

How  the  work  did  pour  in  upon  this  first 
woman  in  this  wild  Eden  set  with  thorns  and 
with  thistles  !  There  were  not  many  clothes  in 
the  Forks  that  were  worth  washing,  but  the  few 
pieces  that  were  presentable  came  almost  every 
day  to  the  door  of  the  Widow  to  be  taken  in  by 


SUNDAY    IN    THE   SIERRAS.  39 

the  little  hand  that  ever  opened  to  the  knock 
of  the  miners'  knuckles  on  the  door,  and  reached 
through  the  partly  opened  place,  and  drew  back 
timidly  and  with  scarce  a  word. 

No  man  had  yet  entered  her  cabin.  The 
wise  little  woman !  If  one  man  had  been  so 
favored,  without  good  and  sufficient  reason, 
then  jealousy,  unless  others  had  been  allowed 
to  enter  also,  would  have  made  a  funeral,  and 
very  soon,  too,  with  that  one  favored  man  the 
central  figure. 

No  man  had  entered  that  cabin ;  but  a  boy 
had,  and  oftentime  too.  In  fact  from  the  first 
little  Billie  Piper,  whose  cabin,  as  I  have  said, 
stood  hard  by,  seemed  to  be  as  much  at  home 
and  as  much  in  place  with  the  Widow  as  he 
was  out  of  place  with  the  men.  The  friendship 
here  made  him  enemies  elsewhere.  Such  is 
human  nature. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WASHEE  -  WASHEE. 

TWO  days  after  the  Widow  had  arrived, 
Washee-Washee,  as  the  "boys"  had 
named  him,  stood  out  on  the  steps  of  his  cabin 
all  the  afternoon,  looking  up  the  Forks  and 
down  the  Forks,  and  wondering  what  in  the 
world  was  the  reason  the  "  boys  "  did  not  come 
creaking  along  and  screeching  their  great  gum 
boots  together,  with  their  extra  shirt  for  wash 
wadded  down  in  one  of  the  spacious  legs. 

Three  days  after  the  Widow  had  arrived  she 
had  absorbed  all  the  business.  Four  days  after 
she  had  arrived,  she  absorbed  Washee-Washee. 
And  now  it  was  the  brown  hand  of  little  moon- 
eyed  Washee-Washee  that  reached  through  the 
door,  took  the  clothes,  and  handed  them  out 
again,  or  at  least  such  portions  as  he  chose  to 
hand  out,  to  the  bearded  giants  standing  there, 
patiently  waiting  at  the  door  of  the  Widow's 
cabin. 

The  face  of  the  Widow  was  now  almost 
entirely  invisible.  It  was  as  if  there  was  no 

40 


WASHEE- "WASHES.  41 

sun  at  the  Forks,  and  all  the  sky  was  in  a  per 
petual  eclipse  of  clouds. 

Soon  there  was  trouble.  Clothes  began  to 
disappear.  One  bearded  sovereign,  a  gallant 
man,  who  refused  to  complain  because  there  was 
a  woman  in  the  case,  was  observed  to  wear  his 
coat  buttoned  very  closely  up  to  his  chin  ;  and 
that  too  in  midday  in  Summer.  This  good  man 
had  at  first  lost  only  his  extra  shirt.  He  did 
not  complain.  He  simply  went  to  bed  on  Sun 
day,  sent  his  shirt  early  to  the  wash,  expecting 
to  rise  in  the  afternoon,  "dress,"  and  go  to 
town.  A  week  went  by.  The  man  could  not 
stay  in  bed  till  the  day  of  judgment,  so  he  rose 
up,  buttoned  up  to  the  throat,  and  went  down 
to  buy  another  supply. 

Other  circumstances,  not  dissimilar  in  result, 
began  to  be  talked  of  quietly ;  and  men  began 
to  question  whether  or  not  after  all  the  camp 
had  been  greatly  the  gainer  by  this  new  element 
in  its  population. 

One  afternoon  there  was  a  commotion  at  the 
door  of  the  Widow's  cabin.  Sandy  was  in 
trouble  with  Washee-Washee.  The  moon-eyed 
little  man  tried  to  get  back  into  the  house,  but 
the  great  big  giant  had  been  too  long  a  patient 
and  uncomplaining  sufferer  to  let  him  escape 
now,  and  he  reached  for  his  queue,  and  drew 
him  forth  as  a  showman  does  a  black  snake  from 
a  cage. 


42       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

The  Widow  saw  the  great  hairy  face  of  this 
grizzly  giant,  and  retreated  far  back  into  the 
cabin.  She  was  certain  she  was  terribly  afraid 
of  this  great  big  awkward 'half-clad  exasperated 
man,  and  therefore,  with  a  woman's  consistency, 
she  came  to  the  door,  and  in  a  voice  softer  than 
running  water  to  Sandy's  ears,  asked  what 
could  be  the  matter  ? 

Sandy  was  taken  by  surprise,  and  could  not 
say  a  word.  He  only  rolled  his  great  head  from 
one  shoulder  to  the  other,  got  his  hands  lashed 
up  somehow  in  his  leather  belt,  and  stood  there 
sadly  embarrassed. 

But  who  ever  saw  an  embarrassed  Chinaman  ? 
The  innocent  little  fellow,  turning  his  soft 
brown  almond  eyes  up  to  the  Widow,  told  her, 
as  poor  Sandy  stared  on  straight  down  the  hill, 
that  this  dreadful  "  Amelikan  "  wanted  him  to 
leave  her,  and  to  go  home  with  him,  to  be  his 
wife. 

When  Sandy  heard  this  last  he  disappeared, 
crestfallen  and  utterly  crushed.  He  went  home  ; 
but  not  to  rest.  He  told  Limber  Tim  all  about 
what  had  happened.  How  he  had  stood  it  all 
in  silence,  till  it  came  to  the  last  shirt.  How 
the  Chinaman  had  lied,  and  how  he  was  now 
certain  that  it  was  this  same  little  celestial  who 
had  been  robbing  him.  Limber  Tim  raised 
himself  on  his  elbow  where  he  lay  in  his  bunk, 


WASHEE-WASHEE.  43 

and  looking  at  Sandy,  struck  out  emphatically 
with  his  hand,  and  cried  — 

"  Lay  fur  him  !  " 

Sandy  drew  on  his  great  gum  boots  again. 
Limber  Tim  rose  up,  and  then  the  two  men  kept 
creaking,  and  screeching  and  whetting  their 
great  boots  together,  as  they  went,  without 
speaking,  and  in  single  file  down  the  hill  towards 
town. 

There  was  an  expression  of  ineffable  peace 
and  tranquility  on  the  face  of  Washee-Washee 
that  twilight,  as  he  wended  his  way  from  the 
Widow's  cabin  to  his  own.  His  day's  work  was 
done  ;  and  the  little  man's  face  looked  the  soul 
of  repose.  Possibly  he  was  saying  with  the 
great  good  poet,  whose  lines  you  hear  at  even 
ing  time,  on  the  lips  of  nearly  every  English 
artisan  — 

"  Something  attempted,  something  done, 
Has  earn'd  a  night's  repose." 

Washee-Washee  looked  strangely  fat  for  a 
Chinaman,  as  he  peacefully  toddled  down  the 
trail,  still  wearing,  as  he  neared  his  cabin,  that 
look  of  calm  delight  and  perfect  innocence,  such 
only  as  the  pure  in  heart  are  supposed  to  wear. 
His  hands  were  drawn  up  and  folded  calmly 
across  his  obtruding  stomach,  as  if  he  feared  he 
might  possibly  burst  open,  and  wanted  to  be 
ready  to  hold  himself  together. 


44  FIRST    F AM* LIES    OF    THE   SIERRAS. 

In  the  great-little  republic  there,  where  all 
had  begun  an  even  and  equal  race  in  the  battle 
of  life,  where  all  had  begun  as  beggars,  this 
tawny  little  man  from  the  far-off  Flowery  King 
dom  was  alone  ;  he  was  the  only  representative 
of  his  innumerable  millions  in  all  that  camp. 
And  he  did  seem  so  fat,  so  perfectly  full  of  sat 
isfaction.  Perhaps  he  smiled  to  think  how  fat 
he  was,  and,  too,  how  he  had  flourished  in  the 
little  democracy. 

He  was  making  a  short  turn  in  the  trail,  still 
holding  his  clasped  hands  over  his  extended 
stomach,  still  smiling  peacefully  out  of  his  half- 
shut  eyes : 

"Washee!  Washee!" 

A  double  bolt  of  thunder  was  in  his  ears.  A 
tremendous  hand  reached  out  from  behind  a 
pine,  and  then  the  fat  little  Chinaman  squatted 
down  and  began  to  wilt  and  melt  beneath  it. 

"  Washee- Washee,  come  !  " 

Washee-Washee  was  not  at  all  willing  to 
come ;  but  that  made  not  the  slightest  differ 
ence  in  the  world  to  Sandy.  The  little  almond- 
eyed  man  was  not  at  all  heavy.  Old  flannel 
shirts,  cotton  overalls,  stockings,  cotton  collars 
and  cambric  handkerchiefs  never  are  heavy,  no 
matter  how  well  they  may  be  wadded  in,  and 
padded  away,  and  tucked  up,  and  twisted  under 
an  outer  garment ;  and  so  before  he  had  time 


WASHEE-WASHEE.  45 

to  say  a  word  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  Widow's 
with  Sandy,  while  Limber  Tim,  with  his  mouth 
half-open,  came  corkscrewing  up  the  trail,  and 
grinding  and  whetting  his  screechy  gum  boots 
together  after  them. 

There  is  a  fine  marble  statue  in  the  garden  at 
Naples,  near  the  massive  marble  head  of  Virgil, 
which  represents  some  great  giant  as  striding 
along  with  some  little  pigmy  thrown  over  his 
shoulder,  which  he  is  carelessly  holding  on  by 
the  heel.  Sandy  looked  riot  wholly  unlike  that 
statue,  as  he  strode  up  the  trail  with  Washee- 
Washee. 

He  reached  the  door  of  the  Widow's  cabin, 
knocked  with  the  knuckles  of  his  left  hand, 
while  his  right  hand  held  on  to  an  ankle  that 
hung  down  over  his  left  shoulder,  and  calmly 
waited  an  answer. 

The  door  half-way  opened. 

"  Beg  pardon,  mum." 

He  bowed  stiffly  as  he  said  this,  and  then 
shifting  Washee-Washee  round,  quietly  took 
his  other  heel  in  his  other  hand,  and  proceeded 
to  shake  him  up  and  down,  and  dance  him  and 
stand  him  gently  on  his  head,  until  the  clothes 
began  to  burst  out  from  under  his  blue  seamless 
garment,  and  to  peep  through  his  pockets,  and 
to  reach  down  around  his  throat  and  dangle 
about  his  face,  till  the  little  man  was  nearly 
smothered. 


46        FIRST  FAMILIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

Then  Sandy  set  him  down  a  moment  to  rest, 
and  he  looked  in  his  face  as  he  sat  there,  and  it 
had  the  same  peaceful  smile,  the  same  calm  sat 
isfaction  as  before.  The  little  man  now  put  his 
head  to  one  side,  shut  his  pretty  brown  eyes  a 
little  tighter  at  the  corners,  and  opened  his 
mouth  the  least  bit  in  the  world,  and  put  out 
his  tongue  as  if  he  was  about  to  sing  a  hymn. 

Then  Sandy  took  him  up  again.  He  smiled 
again  sweeter  than  before.  Sandy  tilted  him 
sidewise,  and  shook  him  again.  Then  there 
fell  a  spoon,  then  a  pepper-box,  and  then  a 
small  brass  candlestick  ;  and  at  last,  as  he  rolled 
him  over  and  shook  the  other  side,  there  came 
out  a  machine  strangely  and  wonderfully  made 
of  whalebone  and  brass,  and  hooks  and  eyes, 
that  Sandy  had  never  seen  before,  and  did  not 
at  all  understand,  but  supposed  was  either  a  fish 
trap  or  some  new  invention  for  washing  gold. 

Then  Limber  Tim,  who  had  screwed  his  back 
up  against  the  palings,  and  watched  all  this 
with  his  mouth  open,  came  down,  and  reaching 
out  with  his  thumb  and  finger,  as  if  they  had 
been  a  pair  of  tongs,  took  the  garments  one 
by  one,  named  them,  for  he  knew  them  and 
their  owners  well,  and  laid  them  silently  aside. 
Then  he  took  Washee-Washee  from  the  hands 
of  Sandy  and  stood  him  up,  or  tried  to  stand 
him  up  alone.  He  looked  like  a  flagstaff  with 


WASHEE-WASHEE.  47 

the  banner  falling  loosely  around  it  in  an  indo 
lent  wind.  He  held  him  up  by  the  queue 
awhile,  but  he  wilted  and  sank  down  gently  at 
his  feet,  all  the  time  smiling  sweetly  as  before, 
all  the  time  looking  up  with  a  half-closed  eye 
and  half-parted  lips,  as  though  he  was  enjoying 
himself  perfectly,  and  would  like  to  laugh,  only 
that  he  had  too  much  respect  for  the  present 
company. 

"  If  I  could  only  shake  the  lies  out  of  him, 
mum,  as  easily  as  I  did  this  'ere  spoon,  and  this 
'ere  candlestick,  and  this  'ere,  this  'ere"  —  Sandy 
had  stooped  and  picked  up  the  articles  as 
he  spoke,  and  now  was  handing  them  to  the 
Widow  in  triumph. 

"  Poor  little,  helpless,  pitiful  fellow  !  " 

The  Widow  was  looking  straight  at  the  celes 
tial,  who  sat  there  piled  up  in  a  little  bit  of  a 
heap,  the  limpest  thing  in  all  the  Forks  perhaps, 
save  Limber  Tim. 

"  Let  him  go,  please ;  let  him  go.  Bring 
the  things  and  come  in.  You  can  go  now, 
John ;  but  do  n't  do  so  any  more.  It  is  not 
right." 

The  Widow  smiled  in  pity  as  she  said  this  to 
Washee-Washee.  The  Chinaman  understood 
the  first  proposition  perfectly,  but  not  the  last 
at  all.  To  him  all  this  was  simply  a  bad  invest 
ment.  To  him  it  was  only  a  little  shipwreck ; 

3 


48       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

and  having  been  taught  by  the  philosophers  of 
his  country  to  prepare  for  adversity  in  the  hour 
of  prosperity,  he  was  not  at  all  lacking  in  resig 
nation  now.  He  rose  up,  smiled  that  patient 
and  peaceful  smile  of  his,  and  wended  his  way 
to  his  home. 

Sandy  looked  a  moment  at  the  retreating 
hungry-looking  little  Chinaman,  and  then  thrust 
his  two  great  hands  into  his  two  great  pockets, 
and  tilting  his  head,  first  on  the  left  shoulder  and 
then  on  the  right,  tried  hard  to  look  the  Widow 
in  the  face,  but  found  himself  contemplating 
the  toes  of  his  great  gum  boots. 

"  Will  you  not  come  in  ?  " 

The  man  rolled  forward.  He  sat  down  in 
the  Widow's  cabin  in  a  perfect  glow  of  excite 
ment  and  delight. 

I  am  bound  to  admit  that,  upright  and  great 
as  Sandy  was,  he  kept  thinking  to  himself, 
"What  will  the  Judge  and  the  boys  say  of 
this?"  He  even  was  glad  in  his  heart  that 
Limber  Tim  stood  with  his  back  glued  up 
against  the  palings  on  the  outside,  and  his 
hands  reached  back  and  wound  in  and  around 
the  rails,  so  that  he  could  testify  to  the  boys, 
tell  it,  in  fact,  to  the  world,  that  he  had  entered 
in,  and  sat  down  in  the  Widow's  cabin. 

It  was  not  easy  work  for  Sandy  sitting  there. 
He  soon  began  to  suffer.  He  hitched  about 


WASHEE  -  WASHEE.  49 

and  twisted  around  on  the  broad  wooden  stool 
as  if  he  had  sat  down  on  a  very  hot  stove. 

The  Widow  sat  a  little  way  back  across  the 
cabin,  a  bit  of  work  in  her  lap,  looking  up  at 
Sandy  now,  and  now  dropping  her  half-sad  blue 
eyes  down  to  her  work,  and  all  the  time,  in  a  low 
sweet  way,  doing  every  word  of  the  talking. 

Sandy's  hot  stove  kept  getting  hotter  and 
hotter.  He  began  to  wish  he  was  down  with 
the  boys  at  the  Howling  Wilderness,  consulting 
the  oracle  of  cocktails.  All  at  once  he  seemed 
to  discover  his  great  long  legs.  They  seemed 
to  him  as  if  they  reached  almost  clean  across 
the  cabin,  like  two  great  anacondas  going  to 
swallow  up  the  Widow.  He  fished  them  up, 
curved  them,  threw  his  two  great  hands  across 
them,  nursed  them  affectionately,  but  they 
seemed  more  in  the  way  and  uglier  than  ever 
before.  Then  he  thrust  them  out  again,  but 
jerked  them  back  instantly,  and  drove  them 
back  under  his  bench  as  if  they  had  been  two 
big  and  unruly  bull-dogs,  and  he  nearly  upset 
himself  in  doing  it.  They  had  fairly  frightened 
him,  they  were  surely  never  half  so  long  before. 
It  seemed  to  him  as  if  they  would  reach  across 
the  room,  through  the  wall,  and  even  down  to 
the  Howling  Wilderness.  He  twisted  them  up 
under  the  bench  and  got  them  fast  there,  and 
was  glad  of  it,  for  now  they  would  not  and 


50       FIEST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

could  not  run  out  and  rush  across  the  room  at 
the  Widow. 

But  now  poor  Sandy  saw  another  skeleton. 
His  eyes  came  upon  them  suddenly,  in  a  sort  of 
discovery.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  just  found 
them  out  for  the  first  time,  and  knew  them  for 
mortal  enemies,  and  determined  to  do  away 
with  them  at  once,  and  at  any  sacrifice. 

Such  hands !  had  the  Widow  really  been 
looking  at  them  all  this  time  ?  the  back  of  that 
hand  was  big  and  rough  as  the  bark  of  a  tree. 
That  finger  nail  had  a  white  rim  of  dough 
around  it;  that  thumb  nail  was  as  big  and 
about  as  dirty  as  a  crevicing  spoon  !  He  picked 
up  that  hand,  thrust  it  under  him,  sat  firmly  over 
on  that  side,  and  held  it  down  and  out  of  sight 
with  all  his  might.  The  other  one  lay  there, 
still  in  the  way.  It  was  uglier  than  the  one  he 
had  just  slain  and  hidden  away  in  the  bush. 

There  was  dirt  enough  about  the  nails  to 
make  a  small  mining  claim.  He  rolled  the 
hand  over  and  over  on  his  lap,  as  if  it  had  been 
somebody's  baby ;  and  a  baby  with  the  colic. 
At  last,  in  a  state  of  desperation,  he  rolled  it  off 
and  let  it  fall  and  take  care  of  itself.  It  hung 
down  at  his  side  like  a  great  big  felon  from  the 
scaffold. 

It  twisted  and  swung  around  there  as  if  it 
had  just  been  hung  up  by  the  neck  in  the  expia- 


WASHES -WASHEE.  51 

tion  of  some  awful  crime.  It  felt  to  Sandy  as 
if  it  weighed  a  ton.  He  tried  to  lift  it  up 
again,  to  take  care  of  it,  to  nurse  it,  to  turn  it 
over  on  its  stomach,  to  stroke  it,  and  talk  to  it, 
and  pity  it,  and  soothe  away  its  colic,  but  lo ! 
he  could  not  lift  it.  He  began  to  perspire,  he 
was  so  very  warm.  It  was  the  warmest  time 
that  Sandy  had  ever  seen.  All  this  time  Sandy 
had  sat  close  by  the  door,  and  not  one  word  had 
he  uttered. 

The  Widow  rose  up,  laid  her  work  on  the 
table,  all  the  time  smiling  sweetly,  half  sadly, 
and  going  up  to  the  fire-place,  took  from  the  box 
in  the  corner,  pine  knot  after  pine  knot,  and 
laid  them  on  the  blazing  fire. 

"  Come,  the  evening  is  chilly,  will  you  not 
sit  closer  to  the  fire  ?  " 

Sandy  sat  still  as  the  statue  of  Moses  in  the 
Vatican,  but  that  abominable  felon  hanging  by 
the  neck  at  his  side  kept  twisting  around  and 
around  and  around  as  if  he  never  would  die  or 
be  still.  The  Widow  sat  down  with  her  work 
as  before,  and  this  time  she  began  to  talk  about 
the  weather,  trusting  that  on  this  subject  at 
least,  her  great  good  friend  could  open  his  lips 
and  speak. 

"  How  very  cold  it  is  this  evening.  The 
chill  of  the  snow  is  in  the  air ;  it  blows  down 
from  the  banks  of  snow  on  the  mountain,  and 


52       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

I  fancy  it  may  be  cold  here  in  this  rickety  cabin 
the  Summer  through." 

Still  the  ugly  convict,  that  now  began  to 
grow  black  in  the  face,  swung  and  twisted  at 
his  side  ;  but  he  did  not  speak. 

"  Do  you  not  feel  cold  ?  "  » 

"  Yes  'urn." 

The  two  words  came  out  like  the  bark  of  a 
bull-dog ;  as  if  one  of  the  brutes  he  had  drawn 
back  under  his  bench  had  stuck  out  his  nose 
and  yelped  in  the  face  of  the  Widow,  and 
Sandy  was  frightened  nearly  to  death.  The 
perspiration  dropped  from  his  brow  to  his  hand, 
and  he  knew  that  things  could  not  last  in  this 
way  much  longer.  The  bull-dogs  would  be  out, 
and  he  knew  it.  The  dead  man^that  he  was 
sitting  down  upon  would  rise  up  to  judgment, 
and  the  felon  at  his  side  was  only  swinging  and 
turning  and  twisting  more  than  before. 

Sandy  shut  his  eyes  and  attempted  to  rise. 
His  gum  boots  screeched,  the  bench  creaked  as 
he  began  to  undouble  himself.  It  turned  up 
and  hung  on  behind  him  as  if  it  had  been  a 
lobster.  He  shook  it  off,  and  began  to  tower 
up  like  a  pine.  He  feared  he  would  pierce 
through  the  roof,  and  began  to  look  out  through 
the  half-open  door,  and  to  stretch  out  the  pros 
trate  hand.  Then  he  stood  still  and  was  more 
bewildered  than  before.  The  Widow  was  look- 


WASHEE-WASHEE.  53 

ing  straight  at  him,  and  expecting  him  to  speak. 
He  wished  he  had  not  got  up  at  all.  If  he  was 
only  back  on  that  overthrown  bench,  with  the 
dead  man  beneath  him,  and  the  bull -dogs 
below,  and  the  felon  swinging  loosely  at  his 
side,  how  happy  he  would  be.  He  tried  to 
speak,  tried  like  a  man,  but  if  it  had  been  to 
save  his  life,  to  save  her  life,  the  world,  he  could 
not  find  will  to  shape  one  word.  He  backed 
and  blundered  and  stumbled  across  the  thres 
hold  and  drew  a  breath,  such  a  breath !  the  first 
he  had  drawn  for  half  an  hour,  as  he  stood 
outside,  with  the  Widow's  little  feet  following 
to  the  threshold,  and  her  pretty  miniature  face 
looking  up  to  his  as  if  looking  up  to  the  top  of 
a  pine. 

"  You  will  come  again,  will  you  not  ?  you 
have  been  so  very  kind ;  please  to  call,  step  in 
as  you  pass,  and  rest.  It  is  so  lonesome  here, 
you  know  !  nobody  that  anybody  knows.  And 
then  you  are  such  good  company." 

And  then  the  pretty  little  Widow  with  the 
sad  sweet  face,  laughed  the  prettiest  little 
laugh  that  ever  was  laughed  this  side  that 
other  Eden  with  its  one  fair  woman. 

Limber  Tim  closed  his  mouth  and  unscrewed 
himself  from  the  palings  on  the  fence  without 
as  Sandy  appeared,  and  the  two  took  their  way 
to  their  cabin, 


54       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

"  And  you  are  such  good  company."  That 
was  all  Sandy  could  remember.  What  could 
he  have  said  ?  He  tried  and  tried  to  recall  his 
observations,  whatever  they  may  have  been,  on 
the  various  topics  of  the  day,  but  in  vain.  He 
could  only  remember  the  circumstance  of  driv 
ing  two  ugly  bull-dogs  back  under  his  bench, 
of  slaying  and  hiding  away  his  mortal  enemy, 
and  then  hanging  a  felon  for  high  treason ;  and 
then  chiefest  of  all,  "  You  will  come  again,  it 
is  lonesome  here ;  you  are  such  good  com 
pany." 

"  You  are  such  good  company."  The  wind 
sang  it  through  the  trees  as  he  wended  his  way 
home.  The  water,  away  down  in  the  canon 
below  the  trail,  sang  it  soft  and  low  and  sweet, 
sang  it  ever,  and  nothing  more,  and  the  tea 
kettle  that  night  simmered  and  sang,  and  sang 
this  one  sweet  song  for  Sandy. 

He  took  the  first  opportunity  after  supper  to 
slip  out  and  away  from  Limber  Tim ;  and  there 
in  the  dark,  with  his  face  to  the  great  black 
forest,  he  stood  saying  over  and  over  to  himself, 
in  his  great  coarse  voice,  trying  to  catch  the 
soft  tones  of  the  Widow,  "  You  are  such  good 
company." 

That  evening  Limber  Tim  leaned  up  against 
the  logs  of  the  Howling  Wilderness,  and  told 
all  that  had  happened,  and  how  Sandy  had  seen 


WASHEE  -  WASHEE.  55 

the  Widow,  how  he  had  sat  in  her  cabin,  how 
he  had  talked,  and  how  she  had  smiled,  and 
what  a  very  hero  his  "pardner"  had  become. 
He  told  of  Washee-Washee. 

The  story  of  Washee-Washee  went  through 
the  Forks,  and  then  the  next  morning  the 
Forks  rose  up  and  "  went  through  "  Washee- 
Washee. 

Perhaps  it  was  what  the  Widow  had  said 
about  the  "poor  little,  helpless,  harmless  man," 
that  saved  him,  but  certain  it  was,  for  some 
unknown  reason,  the  miners  dealt  gently  with 
this  strange  little  stranger.  Had  this  been  one 
or  even  a  dozen,  of  their  own  kind,  some  tree 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Forks  would  have 
borne  in  less  than  an  hour  one,  or  even  a  dozen, 
of  strange  and  ugly  fruit.  They  went  to 
Washee-Washee's  cabin.  He  smiled  as  he  saw 
them  approach,  half  shut  his  eyes  as  they 
entered,  laid  his  head  a  little  to  one  side  as 
they  tore  up  his  bunk,  and  looked  perfectly 
happy,  and  peaceful  as  a  lamb,  as  they  pulled 
out  from  under  it  enough  old  clothes  to  open  a 
shop  in  Petticoat  Lane,  or  even  in  Bow  Street. 

They  found  a  rifle  -  blanket  in  one  of  his 
wooden  shoes,  and  it  was  heavy  with  gold-dust. 
Poor  Washee-Washee,  when  called  upon  to 
explain,  said  timidly  that  he  had  found  it  float 
ing  up  the  river  past  his  cabin,  and  took  it  in 

3* 


56       FIEST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

to  dry  it.  He  seemed  hurt  when  they  refused 
to  believe  him.  They  found  a  hose  coiled  up  in 
his  great  bamboo  hat.  One  of  the  men  took 
hold  of  his  queue,  his  beautiful  long  black 
queue  that  swept  the  ground  with  its  braided 
folds  and  black  silk  tassels  tipped  with  red  and 
gold,  and  found  it  heavy  with  nuggets,  hidden 
away,  for  what  purpose  goodness  only  knows. 
It  was  heavy  enough  to  sink  it  like  a  shot  were 
it  a  fish  line  —  and  all  this  gold  was  his ! 

They  threatened  hard  things  to  Washee- 
Washee,  these  rough,  outraged,  hairy  fellows, 
who  had  patronized  him  and  helped  him  and 
tried  to  get  him  along  in  the  world,  but  he  was 
perfectly  passive  and  tranquil. 

A  man  who  stood  there  with  a  bundle  of 
recovered  treasure-trove,  in  the  shape  of  shirts 
and  coats  of  many  colors,  because  of  many 
patches,  took  Washee-Washee  by  the  little 
pink  ear,  and  twisted  him  up  and  around  till 
he  saw  his  face.  Then  he  let  him  go,  and 
catching  his  clothes  up  under  his  arm  strode  on* 
out  of  the  cabin  and  on  down  to  his  claim  and 
his  work.  The  meekest  man  that  the  world 
has  seen  since  Socrates,  was  Washee-Washee. 
He  sat  there  with  the  same  semi-grin  on  his 
face,  the  same  half  smile  in  his  almond  eyes, 
though  a  man  shook  a  rope  in  his  face,  jerked 
it  up,  thrust  out  his  tongue,  pointed  to  a  tree, 


WASHKE  -  WASHEE.  57 

and  hung  himself  in  pantomime  before  this 
placid  Chinaman. 

"  What  will  we  do  with  him  ?  "  A  bearded 
citizen  stood  there  with  a  bundle  of  clothes 
under  his  arm,  waiting  to  be  gone. 

"  Poor,  lonesome,  harmless  little  man." 
Sandy  stood  there,  repeating  the  words  of  the 
little  Widow  without  knowing  it. 

"  He  does  lie  so  helplessly,"  said  one.  "  If 
he  could  only  lie  decently,  we  might  hang  him 
decently." 

"  Tell  you  what,  flog  him  and  send  him 
adrift."  The  man  who  proposed  this  was  a 
stranger,  with  an  anchor  and  other  hall-marks 
of  the  sea  on  his  hairy  arms. 

"  Wolves  would  eat  'im  on  the  mountain." 

"  Wolves  eat  a  Chinaman  !  They  'd  eat  a 
gum  boot  fust !  " 

"  Tell  you  what  we  '11  do,"  growled  the 
Gopher,  "  reform  him." 

"  Reform  hell !  "  said  the  sailor  to  himself. 

"  Come,  let 's  do  a  little  missionary  business, 
and  begin  at  home,"  urged  the  Gopher.  "  Get 
the  Judge  to  reprimand  him.  Have  him  talk 
to  him  an  hour,  then  let  the  Parson  speak  to 
him  another  hour.  If  he  lives  that  through  he 
will  be  an  honest  man,  or  if  not  honest  he  will 
at  least  be  harmless." 

Now  they  had  no  preacher  in  the  Forks,  not 


58       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

even  the  semblance  of  one  yet,  neither  had 
they  a  lawyer  or  doctor,  but  this  Parson  was  a 
power  in  the  camp.  He  was  perhaps  the  most 
popular  man  there.  He  was  certainly  the  most 
influential,  for  he  was  a  man  who  could  talk. 
They  called  him  the  Parson  because  he  was 
certainly  the  profanest  man  in  all  the  mines. 

The  idea  was  novel  and  was  at  once  adopted. 

Here  at  last  was  a  practical  application  of 
the  popular  feeling,  in  older  republics,  that  the 
officers  are  the  servants  of  the  public. 

The  little  Judge  here  was  certainly  the 
people's  servant.  If  he  had  not  been,  if  he 
had  asserted  himself  at  all  and  taken  up  arms 
and  fortified  himself  behind  a  barricade  of 
books,  they  would  simply  have  called  a  miners' 
meeting  in  half  an  hour,  and  in  half  an  hour 
would  have  had  the  little  man  ousted  and 
another  man  in  his  place,  and  then  back  to 
their  work  as  if  nothing  ever  had  happened. 
Never  in  the  world  had  men  known  such  abso 
lute  liberty  as  was  attained  here.  There  was 
not  even  the  dominion  of  woman.  And  yet 
they  were  not  happy. 

They  marched  Washee-Washee  to  the  Howl 
ing  Wilderness,  told  the  sentence,  and  called 
upon  the  Parson  to  enforce  judgment. 

He  now  took  a  cordial  and  began.  Washee- 
Washee  sat  before  him  on  a  bench,  leaning 


WASHEE-WASHEE.  59 

against  the  wall.  The  little  man  seemed  as  if 
he  was  about  to  go  to  sleep  ;  possibly  his  con 
science  had  kept  him  awake  the  night  before, 
when  he  found  that  all  his  little  investments 
had  been  a  failure  in  the  Forks. 

The  Parson  began.  Washee-Washee  flinched, 
jerked  back,  sat  bolt  upright,  and  seemed  to 
suffer. 

Then  the  Parson  shot  another  oath.  This 
time  it  came  like  a  cannon  ball,  and  red  hot 
too,  for  Washee-Washee  was  almost  lifted  out 
of  his  seat. 

Then  the  Parson  took  his  breath  a  bit,  rolled 
the  quid  of  tobacco  in  his  mouth  from  left  to 
right  and  from  right  to  left,  and  as  he  did  so  he 
selected  the  very  broadest,  knottiest,  and  ugli 
est  oaths  that  he  had  found  in  all  his  fifty  years 
of  life  at  sea  and  on  the  border. 

Washee-Washee  had  lost  his  expression  of 
peace.  He  had  evidently  been  terribly  shaken. 
The  Parson  had  rested  a  good  spell,  however, 
and  the  little,  slim,  brown  man  before  him,  who 
had  crawled  out  over  the  great  wall  of  China, 
sailed  across  the  sea  of  seas,  climbed  the 
Sierras,  and  sat  down  in  their  midst  to  begin 
the  old  clothes  business,  without  pay  or  pro 
mise,  was  again  settling  back,  as  if  about  to 
surrender  to  sleep. 

Cannon  balls  !  conical  shot !  chain  shot !  and 


60       FIRST  PAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

shot  red  hot !  Never  were  such  oaths  heard  in 
the  world  before !  The  Chinaman  fell  over. 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  the  bar-keeper  of  the  Howl 
ing  Wilderness,  who  did  n't  want  the  expense 
of  the  funeral ;  "  stop !  do  you  mean  to  cuss 
him  to  death  ?  " 

The  Chinaman  was  allowed  time  to  recover, 
and  then  they  sat  him  again  on  the  bench.  A 
man  fanned  him  with  his  broad  bamboo  hat, 
lest  he  should  faint  before  the  last  half  of  the 
punishment  was  nearly  through,  and  the  Judge 
was  called  upon  to  enforce  the  remainder  of 
their  sentence. 

The  Judge  come  forward  slowly,  put  his  two 
hands  back  under  his  coat  tails,  tilted  forward 
on  his  toes  and  began : 

"  Washee-Washee  !  In  this  glorious  climate 
of  Californy — how  could  you  ?  " 

Washee-Washee  nodded,  and  the  Judge 
broke  down  badly  embarrassed.  At  last  he 
recovered  himself,  and  began  in  a  deep,  earnest 
and  entreating  tone : 

"  Washee-Washee,  in  this  glorious  climate  of 
Californy  you  should  remember  the  seventh 
Commandment,  and  never,  under  any  circum 
stances  or  temptations  that  beset  you,  should 
you  covet  your  neighbor's  goods,  or  his  boots, 
or  his  shirt,  or  his  socks,  or  his  handkerchief,  or 
any  thing  that  is  his,  or — " 


WASHEE  -  WASHEE.  61 

The  Judge  paused,  the  men  giggled,  and 
then  they  roared,  and  laughed,  and  danced 
about  their  little  Judge  ;  for  Washee-Washee 
had  folded  his  little  brown  hands  in  his  lap, 
and  was  sleeping  as  sweetly  as  a  baby  in  its 
cradle. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SOME  UNWRITTEN   HISTORY. 

THE  murder  of  Joseph  Smith,  the  so-called 
prophet,  meant  more  than  any  other 
similar  event  in  history.  This  man,  as  well  as 
his  brother,  Hiram,  was  not  only  an  honest, 
brave  gentleman,  but  also  a  man  of  culture  and 
refinement.  The  latter,  it  may  not  be  generally 
known,  was  a  candidate  for  Congress,  when  that 
place  was  counted  the  post  of  honor. 

Nothing  in  the  New  World  ever  so  intensified 
the  minds  of  men  as  the  life  and  death  of  this 
singular  man,  Joseph  Smith.  On  the  one  hand 
he  was  hated  to  death,  on  the  other  hand  he 
was  adored  while  living,  worshiped  when  dead. 
Men  for  his  memory's  sake  burned  their  bridges 
behind  them,  as  it  were,  and  fled  destitute  to 
the  wilderness. 

With  no  capital  but  a  hoe  and  a  wheelbarrow, 

they  built  up,  in  a  quarter  of  a  century,  in  the 

middle  of  a  desert,  the  most  remote  and  the 

most  remarkable  commonwealth  that  the  world 

62 


SOME   UNWRITTEN   HISTORY.  63 

has  ever  seen.  Salt  Lake  City  was  the  one  pier 
upon  which  was  laid  the  long  and  unbroken 
iron  chain  of  the  Pacific  Railroad. 

On  what  singular  foundations  lie  the  corner 
stones  of  some  of  the  greatest  achievements ! 
I  think  you  can  safely  say  that  had  there  been 
no  Joseph  Smith  there  had  been,  up  to  this' 
date  at  least,  no  Pacific  Railroad. 

This  tragedy  meant  everything  to  those  who 
took  part  in  it,  no  matter  on  which  side  they 
fought  or  followed. 

No  one  saw  beyond  the  circle  of  houses  in 
which  they  then  lived  and  moved.  As  a  rule 
those  who  followed  the  prophet,  as  well  as 
those  who  murdered  him,  were  wild,  ignorant 
men,  from  the  mountains  of  Tennessee,  the 
wilds  of  Virginia  and  their  own  Missouri. 

To  these  men,  as  I  have  said,  this  tragedy 
meant  all  the  world.  Carthage  to  them  meant 
all  that  Carthage  ever  meant  to  Rome. 

Nearly  a  hundred  men,  heavily  masked, 
moving  down  upon  a  prison,  with  its  hal-f  dozen 
inmates.  A  little  tussle ;  one  struggle  at  the 
door.  Then  a  few  shots.  Then  a  few  men 
lying  in  their  blood  on  the  prison  floor.  Then 
a  leap  from  a  window,  a  fall ;  a  man  lying  dead 
in  the  jail  yard.  Some  masked  men  pick  up 
the  body.  They  sit  it  up  against  a  pump  in 
the  yard ;  and  then  they,  as  if  to  be  doubly 


64       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

certain,  fire  at  the  dead  body  of  the  prophet  as 
they  file  out  of  the  jail  yard  and  disappear. 

All  is  consternation,  terror  now,  flight !  It 
seems  there  will  not  be  one  human  being,  save 
the  dead  and  dying,  left  in  the  town.  One 
family  alone  dares  to  remain  to  care  for  the 
murdered. 

The  work  was  well  done.  If  such  a  deed 
can  be  done  well,  this  certainly  was.  The 
secret  was  kept  as  never  had  secret  been  kept 
before.  Life  was  depending.  Not  only  the 
life  of  the  man  who  had  taken  part,  but  the  lives 
of  his  children,  his  wife,  all  his  house.  Who 
says  the  West  is  not  the  world  of  Romance  and 
Tragedy  ? 

A  pendulum  must  swing  about  as  far  one  way 
as  it  does  the  other.  Blood  meant  blood.  From 
the  stains  on  that  prison  floor  sprang  the  Drag- 
gon's  teeth.  Out  of  that  awful  day  came  forth 
a  singular  conception  :  the  Danites — Destroying 
Angels. 

The  prophet  of  God,  as  these  men  professed, 
had  been  slain.  Unlike  the  Christians,  they 
proposed  to  slay  in  revenge. 

I  fancy  you  might  trace  this  on  till  you  came 
to  the  awful  tragedy  of  Mountain  Meadows. 
Putting  the  two  tragedies  together,  side  by 
side,  and  passing  them  on  to  the  impartial 
judgment  of  some  pagan,  I  am  not  certain 


SOME   UNWRITTEN   HISTORY.  65 

that  he  would  not  pronounce  in  favor  of  the 
Mormon. 

History  trenches  closely  upon  romance,  and 
here  we  must  leave  the  very  uncertain  and 
crudely  traced  outline  of  the  former  and  follow 
on  in  the  latter,  as  we  began. 

The  story  runs  that  the  Danites  found  trace 
of  one  man  who  had  taken  an  active  part  in  the 
death  of  their  prophet.  His  name  was  Williams, 
and  was  a  man  of  a  large  and  refined  family. 

Williams  in  the  course  of  a  year  was  found 
dead  —  drowned  !  Drowned  he  certainly  was, 
but  whether  by  accident  or  the  design  of^ 
enemies  (for  suicide  does  not  sever  the  life  of 
the  borderer)  was  not  known.  Then  his  eldest 
son  was  found  dead  in  the  woods.  His  empty 
rifle  was  in  his  hand.  He  too  might  have 
perished  either  by  accident  or  design.  The 
mother  was  the  next  victim.  There  was  con 
sternation  in  the  family ;  in  all  the  settlement. 

Another  victim  !  Then  another  !  Now  it  was 
certain  that  some  awful  agency  was  at  work, 
and  that  the  family  was  doomed.  The  only 
hope  of  safety  lay  in  flight.  One  night  the  four 
surviving  children,  three  grown  sons  and  a 
daughter,  set  out  to  cross  the  plains.  They  had 
a  team  of  strong  horses,  and  pushed  on  in  the 
hope  of  falling  in  with  some  train  of  emigrants, 
joining  them,  and  thus  blending  in  with  and 


66        FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

mixing  with  their  members,  throw  the  enemy 
from  off  the  track. 

They  found  their  train,  joined  it,  crossed  the 
Missouri  River,  and  moving  on,  began  to  deem 
themselves  secure. 

Soon  it  came  the  turn  for  one  of  the  brothers 
to  stand  guard.  He  kissed  his  pale,  sad  sister, 
as  he  shouldered  his  gun  and  went  on  duty. 
And  it  was  well  that  he  said  good-bye,  for  he 
was  never  heard  of  afterwards. 

As  they  neared  the  Rocky  Mountains,  a  party 
of  half  a  dozen  rode  out  from  the  train  to  take 
buffalo.  One  of  the  two  remaining  brothers 
was  of  this  party.  He  never  returned. 

Now  only  two  remained.  The  brother  and 
sister  often  sat  silent  and  bowed  by  the  camp- 
fire,  and  looked  sadly  into  each  others'  faces. 
What  could  they  be  thinking  of?  What  was 
the  one  question  in  their  minds?  The  man 
could  only  have  been  saying  to  himself,  "  Sister, 
whose  turn  next  ?  is  it  you  or  I  ?  "  His  brow 
darkened  as  he  thought  how  terrible  it  would 
be  to  leave  his  sister  all  alone.  And  there  was 
an  old  Roman  nobility  in  the  wish  that  she  might 
die  before  him. 

The  question  was  not  long  unsettled.  As 
they  neared  the  Sierras,  a  stray  shot  from  the 
willows  that  grow  on  the  banks  of  the  Humboldt, 
laid  the  brother  dead  at  his  sister's  feet. 


SOME   UNWRITTEN   HISTORY.  67 

Nancy  Williams  was  now  left  alone.  One 
day,  as  they  ascended  the  Sierras,  she  too  was 
missed.  Little  was  said.  People  feared  to 
speak.  There  was  something  terrible  in  this 
persecution  to  the  death  in  the  dark.  Who 
were  these  men,  and  where?  Did  they  sit  at 
your  very  elbow  in  camp,  and  dip  from  the  same 
dish  ?  They  too  could  keep  secrets  as  well  as 
the  assassins  of  their  so-called  prophet. 

What  had  become  of  Nancy  Williams  ?  Had 
she  too  really  been  murdered  ?  or  had  she  in 
terror  stolen  away  in  disguise,  and  made  her 
way  into  the  mines  alone  ?  No  one  knew. 
People  soon  became  too  much  concerned  with 
their  own  affairs,  as  they  neared  the  gold-fields, 
and  men  only  now  and  then  thought  of  the 
name  of  Nancy  Williams. 

One  day  two  strange  men  entered  the  Howl 
ing  Wilderness  saloon,  and  spoke  in  signs  and 
monosyllables  to  the  cinnamon  -  haired  bar 
keeper,  and  pointed  up  toward  the  cabin  of  the 
"Widow."  Sandy  entered  as  these  two  men 
went  out. 

The  bar-keeper  looked  at  Sandy  a  long  time, 
as  if  some  great  question  was  battling  in  his 
mind.  At  last,  in  a  husky  and  hurried  voice, 
he  said,  as  he  looked  out  through  the  door,  and 
over  his  shoulder,  as  if  he  feared  the  very  logs 
of  the  house  might  betray  him  : 


68       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

"Them's  Danites." 

"  What  in  hell  do  they  want  at  the  Forks?  " 
The  sledge-hammer  fist  fell  on  the  counter  like 
a  thunder-bolt. 

"  Shoo  !  "  The  red,  bristled  head  of  the  bar 
keeper  reached  over  toward  Sandy.  The  bar 
keeper's  hand  reached  out  and  took  Sandy  by 
the  loose  blue-shirt  bosom,  and  drew  him  close 
up  to  the  red  head.  Then  again  looking  toward 
the  door,  and  then  back  over  his  shoulder,  as  if  he 
suspected  that  his  own  bottles  might  hear  him, 
he  said,  in  a  sharp  hissing  whisper,  "  Shoo  ! 
They  want  Nancy  Williams  !  " 

Sandy's  mind  at  once  turned  to  the  Widow. 
He  dared  not  trust  the  bar-keeper.  In  truth, 
no  man  dared  trust  his  best  friend  where  this 
most  terrible  and  secret  order  was  concerned. 
He  did  not  answer  this  man,  but  silently,  and 
as  unconcerned  as  possible,  turned  away  and 
went  back  to  his  'cabin. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THAT  BOY. 

AS  before  remarked,  the  boy  poet,  Little 
Billie  Piper,  sly  and  timid  as  he  was  with 
the  men,  was  about  the  first  to  make  friends 
with  this  first  woman  in  this  wild  Eden.  Men 
noted  this  as*  they  did  all  things  that  in  any 
way  touched  the  life  or-  affairs  of  the  Widow, 
and  made  their  observations  accordingly. 

"  Thim  's  a  bad  lot,"  said  the  Irishman,  as  he 
rested  his  elbow  on  the  counter,  and  held  his 
glass  poised  in  the  air ;  "  thim  's  a  bad  lot  fur 
the  woman,  as  writes  poetry." 

Then  the  son  of  Erin  winked  at  the  row  of 
men  by  his  side  —  winked  right  and  left — lifted 
his  glass,  shut  both  his  eyes,  and  swallowed  his 
"  tarantula  juice,"  as  they  called  it  in  the 
mines. 

Then  this  man  wiped  his  broad  mouth  on  his 
red  sleeve,  hitched  up  the  broad  belt  that  sup 
ported  his  duck  breeches,  and  said,  with  another 
wink : 

"  Jist   think   of  Bryan ;    that  fellow,   Lord 


70          FIRST    F AM' LIES   OF   THE    SIERRAS. 

O' Bryan.  Why,  gints,  I  tell  yez  he  was  pizen 
on  the  six." 

But  the  Parson,  the  great  rival  of  Sandy  for 
the  Widow's  affections,  took  a  deeper  interest 
in  this  than  that  of  an  idle  gossip. 

It  was  with  a  lofty  sort  of  derision  in  his  tone 
and  manner,  that  he  now  always  spoke  of  the 
strange  little  poet,  as  "That  Boy." 

The  Parson  regarded  him  with  bitter  envy, 
as  he  oftentimes,  at  dusk  and  alone,  saw  him 
enter  the  Widow's  cabin.  At  such  times  the 
Parson  would  usually  stride  up  and  down  the 
trail,  and  swear  to  himself  till  he  fairly  tore 
the  bark  from  the  trees. 

On  one  occasion,  the  boy  returning  to  his  own 
cabin  at  an  earlier  hour  than  usual,  was  met  in 
the  trail,  where  it  ran  around  the  spur  of  the 
mountain,  on  a  high  bluff,  by  the  infuriated 
Parson. 

Little  Billie,  as  was  his  custom,  gave  him  the 
trail,  all  of  the  trail,  and  stood  quite  aside  on 
the  lower  hillside,  to  let  him  pass. 

But  the  Parson  did  not  pass  on.  He  came 
close  up  to  the  boy  as  he  stood  there  alone  in 
the  dusk,  half  trembling  with  fear,  as  the  Par 
son  approached. 

The  strong  man  did  not  speak  at  first.  His 
face  was  terrible  with  rage  and  a  strange 
tumult  of  thought. 


• 

0 

UN/VERSITY 

OF 
THAT   BOY. 


The  stars  were  half  hidden  by  the  sailing 
clouds,  and  the  moon  had  not  risen.  It  was 
almost  dark.  Away  up  on  the  mountain  side 
a  wolf  called  to  his  companion,  and  a  lonesome 
night-bird,  with  a  sharp  cracked  voice,  kept 
up  a  mournful  monotone  in  the  canon  below. 

The  boy  began  to  tremble,  as  the  man  tow 
ered  up  above  him,  and  looked  down  into  his 
uplifted  face. 

"  By  God,  youngster,"  muttered  the  man 
between  his  teeth.  The  boy  sank  on  his  knees, 
as  he  saw  the  Parson  look  up  and  down  the  trail, 
as  if  to  make  sure  that  no  one  was  in  sight. 

Then  he  reached  his  great  hand  and  clutched 
him  sharp  by  the  shoulder  : 

"  Come  here  !  come  !  come  with  me  !  " 

The  broad  hand  tightened  like  a  vice  on  the 
shoulder.  The  boy  tried  to  rise,  but  trembled 
and  half  fell  to  the  ground.  The  infuriated, 
half  monster  man,  held  tight  to  his  shoulder, 
and  led  toward  the  precipice. 

The  boy,  half  lifted,  half  led,  half  dragged, 
found  himself  powerless  in  the  hands  of  the 
Parson,  and  was  soon  on  the  brink  of  the 
cafi  on. 

"  Now  sir,  damn  you,  what  have  you  been 
doing  at  the  Widow's  ?  "  ' 

The  boy  stood  trembling  before  him. 

"  Boy  !  do  you  hear  ;  I  intend  to  pitch  you 


72        FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

over  the  rocks,  and  break  your  infernal  slim 
little  neck  !  " 

The  boy 'still  was  silent.  He  could  not  even 
lift  his  eyes.  He  was  preparing  to  die. 

"  Now  sir,  tell  me  the  truth  ;  what  have  you 
been  doing  at  the  Widow's  ?  " 

The  boy  trembled  like  a  bird  in  the  clutches 
of  a  haAvk,  but  could  not  speak. 

The  Parson  looked  up  the  trail  and  down 
the  trail  ;  all  was  silent  save  the  roar  of  the 
water  in  the  canon  below,  the  interrupted  howl 
of  the  wolf  on  the  hill,  and  the  mournful  and 
monotonous  call  of  the  night-bird.  He  looked 
up  through  the  cafion  at  the  sky.  It  was  a 
dark  and  cloudy  night.  Now  and  then  a  star 
stood  out  in  the  fresco  of  clouds,  but  it  was  a 
gloomy  night. 

"  Now  you  look  here,"  and  he  shook  the  boy 
by  the  shoulder  and  laughed  like  a  demon. 
u  Don't  you  know  that  if  you  go  on  this  way 
you  will  fall  over  this  bluff  some  night  and 
break  your  cussed  little  neck  ?  Do  n't  you 
know  that  ?  You  boy  !  You  brat !  " 

Still  the  boy  could  not  speak  or  even  lift  his 
face. 

"  I'll  save  you  the  trouble,"  said  the  Parson 
between  his  teeth.  "'The  boys' will  rather 
like  it.  They  will  say  they  knew  you  would 
break  your  neck  some  night." 


THAT   BOY.  73 

The  boy  did  not  speak,  but  beneath  the  iron 
clutch  of  the  Parson  settled  to  his  knees. 

"  Now  sir,  you  have  just  one  minute.  Do 
you  see  that  star  ?  When  that  flying  cloud 
covers  that  star,  then  you  die !  and  may  God 
help  you  —  and  me." 

The  man's  voice  was  husky  with  rage  and 
from  the  contemplation  of  his  awful  crime. 

"  Speak  boy  !  speak  !  speak  but  once  before 
I  murder  you  !  " 

The  boy's  eyes  were  lifted  to  the  star,  to  the 
flying  cloud  that  was  about  to  cover  it,  and 
then  to  the  eyes  of  the  Parson,  and  he,  tremb 
ling,  half  whispering,  said,  "  Please,  Parson, 
may  I  pray  ?  " 

The  iron  hand  relaxed  ;  the  man  let  go  his 
hold,  and  staggering  back  to  the  trail  went 
down  the  hill  in  silence,  and  into  the  dark, 
where  he  belonged. 

The  two  men  who  had  entered  the  saloon  at 
the  Forks  so  mysteriously  and  had  so  terrified 
the  bar -keeper,  had  disappeared.  Yet  Sandy, 
every  man,  knew  that  these  men  or  their 
agents  were  all  the  time  in  their  midst.  No 
one  knew  the  face  of  Nancy  Williams ;  every 
body  knew  the  story  of  her  life.  At  first  there 
was  terror  in  the  camp.  Could  the  Widow  be 
Nancy  Williams?  It  was  decided  that  that 
was  impossible.  Then  all  was  peace. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
SANDY'S  COURTSHIP. 

Q  WIFTLY,  and  very  sweetly  for  Sandy,  the 
^  days  went  by  in  the  Forks ;  down  there 
deep  in  the  earth,  almost  in  the  dark  of  the 
under-world,  in  the  cool  of  the  forest,  in  the 
fragrance  and  spice  and  sweetness  of  the  fir,  and 
madrona,  and  tamarack  for  ever,  dripping  with 
dew,  and  dropping  their  fragrant  gums  and 
spices  on  the  carpeted,  mossy  mountain  side, 
filling  the  deep  chasm  with  an  odor  found  no 
where  save  in  the  heart  of  the  Sierras,  and 
Sandy  was  happy  at  last. 

"  You  will  please  come  again.  You  are  such 
good  company  !  "  Sandy  had  come  to  think  he 
was  one  of  the  best  talkers  in  the  world ;  and 
thinking  so  he  was  really  able  to  begin  to  talk. 
Such  is  the  tact  and  power,  for  good  or  ill,  of 
woman. 

Water  will  find  its  level.  In  this  camp,  in  all 
new  camps,  in  all  new  countries,  new  enter 
prises,  wars,  controversies  —  no  matter  what, 
there  are  certain  men  who  come  to  the  surface. 

74 


SANDY'S  COURTSHIP.  75 

These  come  to  the  front,  and  men  stand  aside, 
and  they  take  their  place.  They  stay  there,  for 
they  belong  there.  They  may  not  come  im 
mediately  ;  but  let  any  great  question  be  taken 
up,  let  it  be  one  of  enough  consequence  to  stir 
up  the  waters,  and  the  waters  will  find  their 
level. 

No  man  need  stilt  himself  up,  or  seek  ap 
plause,  or  friends  in  high  places,  or  loud  praise. 
If  he  belongs  to  the  front  he  will  get  there  in 
time,  and  will  remain  there  when  he  arrives. 
If  he  does  not,  there  is  but  little  need  for  him 
to  push  and  bribe  and  bother  at  all  about  it. 
He  will  only  stand  up  in  the  light  long  enough 
to  show  to  the  world  that  some  one  has  escaped 
from  the  woodcut  of  a  comic  almanac,  or  the 
Zoological  Gardens,  and  will  then  sink  back,  to 
end  his  life  in  complaining  of  hard  treatment 
and  lack  of  appreciation. 

Let  us  rather  accept  the  situation,  good  or 
bad,  play  the  piece  out,  and  look  to  promotion 
in  the  next  great  drama. 

Do  not  despise  my  spicy  little  camp  in  the 
Sierras.  It  was  a  world  of  itself.  Perhaps  it 
was  as  large  as  all  Paradise  was  at  the  first ;  and 
then  it  was  so  new,  so  fresh,  so  fragrant,  sweet, 
and  primitive. 

It  was  something  to  be  the  first  man  in  that 
camp.  Csesar,  if  they  have  written  their  chron- 


76          FIRST    FAMILIES    OF    THE    SIERRAS. 

icles  true,  would  have  preferred  it  to  the  second 
place  in  Rome. 

Here  only  the  strong,  clear  heads  towered 
up.  It  was  not  accident  that  made  Sandy,  or 
the  Parson  either,  a  head  man  in  the  Forks. 

The  Forks  knew  just  how  sterling,  and  how 
solid,  and  how  sincere  he  was.  No  flattery  here. 
There  was  not  a  penny  to  win  by  it.  No  applause 
to  care  for  here.  No  public  opinion  to  appease 
or  woo.  If  a  man  did  not  like  the  company  at 
the  Howling  Wilderness  he  need  not  put  in  an 
appearance.  He  could  stay  at  home,  lord  of  his 
castle,  toil  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  in 
the  year,  and  no  man  would  question  him  or 
doubt  his  motives. 

Nor  was  it  any  accident  that  made  Limber 
Tim  the  partner  of  Sandy.  These  things  have 
a  deeper  root  than  men  suppose.  Sandy  was 
the  strongest  man  in  the  camp,  Limber  Tim  was 
the  weakest.  Nothing  in  nature  was  more 
natural  than  their  present  relation. 

It  is  as  remarkable  as  it  is  true,  that  wild 
beasts,  even  when  the  sexes,  more  decent  than 
men,  are  divided  from  each  other,  mate  thus. 
The  strong  bear  or  the  strong  buck  companions 
with  the  weak. 

This  Sandy  never  blustered  or  asserted  him 
self  at  all.  He  was  born  above  most  men  of  his 
class,  and  he  stood  at  their  head  boldly  without 


SANDY'S  COURTSHIP.  77 

knowing  it.  Had  he  been  born  an  Indian  he 
would  have  been  a  chief,  would  have  led  in 
battle,  and  dictated  in  council,  without  question 
or  without  opposition  from  any  one.  Had  he 
been  born  in  the  old  time  of  kings  he  would 
have  put  out  his  hand,  taken  a  crown,  and 
worn  it  as  a  man  wears  the  most  fitting  gar 
ment,  by  instinct. 

Sandy  was  born  King  of  the  Forks.  He  was 
king  already,  without  knowing  it  or  caring  to 
rule  it. 

There  are  people  just  like  that  in  the  world, 
you  know, —  great,  silent,  fearless  fellows,  or  at 
least  there  are  in  the  Sierra-world,  and  they  are 
as  good  as  they  are  great.  They  are  there, 
throned  there,  filling  up  more  of  the  world  than 
any  ten  thousand  of  those  feeble  things  that 
God  sent  into  the  world,  in  mercy  to  the  poor 
good  men  who  sit  all  day  silent,  and  cross- 
legged,  and  in  nine  parts,  sewing,  on  a  table. 

They  will  not  go  higher,  they  can  not  go 
lower.  They  accept  the  authority  as  if  they 
had  inherited  through  a  thousand  sires. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


HOW  that  courtship  got  on,  or  where  and 
when  Sandy  first  opened  his  lips, 
nobody  ever  knew.  At  first  he  took  Limber 
Tim  with  him.  But  really  Limber  was  so 
awkward  in  the  presence  of  ladies,  or  at  least 
so  thought  Sandy  to  himself,  that  he  was 
ashamed  of  him. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  Sandy,  if  he  had  only 
known  enough  to  admit  it  to  himself,  to  find 
some  one  in  the  room  more  awkward  than  him- 
self.  Nothing  is  a  better  boon,  when  embar 
rassed,  than  to  see  some  one  there  a  bigger 
dolt  than  yourself. 

Limber  Tim  would  come  in,  but  he  would  not 
sit  down.  He  would  go  over  against  the  wall 
and  stand  there  on  one  leg,  with  his  hands 
stuck  in  behind  him  and  his  head  lolled  to  one 
side  while  his  mouth  fell  open,  with  his  back 
glued  up  against  the  wall,  as  if  he  was  a  sort 
of  statuary  that  had  made  up  its  mind  never  to 
fall  down  on  its  face. 

78 


"THAT    BOY"    IS   ILL.  79 

He  would  stand  in  that  attitude  till  the 
Widow  would  speak  to  him  or  even  smile  on 
him,  and  then  he  would  flop  right  over  with 
his  face  to  the  wall,  whip  out  a  great  pencil 
from  his  canvas  pocket,  and  then  slowly  begin 
to  scrawl  the  date,  or  as  near  as  he  could  guess 
it,  and  sketch  grotesque  pictures  all  over  the 
new  hewn  logs  of  the  cabin. 

The  Widow  used  to  call  that  place  the  Alma 
nac,  for  Limber  Tim  knew  the  date  and  day 
of  the  year,  if  any  man  in  the  Forks  knew  it. 
Though  it  sometimes  happened  that  when  the 
pack-train  with  the  provisions  would  come  in 
from  the  outer  world  they  would  find  they  were 
two,  three  and  even  four  days  behind  or  ahead  in 
their  calculations. 

At  last  Sandy  began  to  get  tired  of  Limber 
Tim  on  the  wall  at  the  Widow's.  Perhaps  he 
was  in  the  way.  At  all  events  he  "  shook  " 
him,  as  they  called  it  at  the  Howling  Wilder 
ness,  and  "  played  it  alone." 

One  evening  Sandy  had  a  sorry  tale  to  tell 
the  little  woman.  She  listened  as  never  she 
had  listened  before.  Poor  Little  Billie,  young 
Piper  the  boy  poet,  the  boy  who  was  always  so 
alone,  was  down  with  a  fever,  and  was  wild 
and  talking  in  strange  ways,  and  they  had 
no  help,  no  doctor,  nothing.  "Yes,  yes,"  cried 
Sandy,  "  the  Forks  is  a  doin'  its  level  best. 


80       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

Watchin'  and  a  watchin',  but  he  won't  git  up 
ag'in.     It's  all  up  with  poor  Billie." 

And  all  the  Forks  was  doing  its  best  too. 
But  the  boy  was  very  ill.  The  Forks  was  good : 
and  it  was  also  very  sorry,  for  it  had  laughed 
at  this  young  man  with  hands  white  and  small 
and  a  waist  like  a  woman's,  and  now  that  he 
was  dying  it  wanted  to  be  forgiven. 

It  was  something  to  the  Forks  that  it  had 
allowed  this  boy  to  bear  his  own  Christian 
name;  the  only  example  of  the  kind  on  its 
records. 

The  Widow  was  not  very  talkative  after  that, 
and  Sandy  went  away  earlier  than  usual.  He 
thought  to  drop  in  and  see  the  boy  ;  but  turned 
aside  and  called  at  the  Howling  Wilderness. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  went  back  to  the  cabin  of 
the  sufferer.  Gently  he  lifted  the  latch,  and 
on  tip-toe  he  softly  entered  the  room  where  he 
lay. 

The  man  was  utterly  amazed.  The  Widow 
sat  there,  holding  his  hands  now,  now  pushing 
back  the  soft  long  hair  from  his  face,  folding 
back  the  blankets,  cooling  his  hot  brow  with  her 
soft  fresh  hand,  and  looking  into  his  eyes  all 
the  time  with  a  tenderness  that  was  new  to 
Sanely. 

The  boy  was  wild  with  the  fever,  and  weak 
and  helpless.  Men  stood  back  around  the  wall 


IS   ILL.  81 

and  in  the  dark ;  they  had  not  dared  to  speak 
to  her  as  she  entered.  They  were  so  amazed 
that  a  woman  would  dare  do  this  thing  —  to 
come  in  among  them  alone,  take  this  boy  in  her 
arms,  wave  them  back  —  wild  beasts  as  they 
were,  they  stood  there  mute  with  amazement 
and  devotion. 

"  I  will  go  now !  "  The  boy  then  reached 
his  hands  and  tried  to  rise  up.  "  I  will  go  away 
up,  up,  out  of  it  all.  I  do  n't  fit  in  here.  I  do  n't 
belong  here.  I  don't  know  the  people,  and  the 
people  don't  know  me." 

Then  he  was  still,  and  his  mind  wandered  in 
another  direction,  when  he  began  again. 

"  Now  I  will  go  ;  and  I  will  go  alone.  I  am 
so,  so  tired.  I  am  so  hot  and  thirsty  here.  I 
will  cross  on  the  cool  mountain  and  rest  as  I  go." 

The  woman  looked  in  his  face,  took  his  face 
in  her  hands  as  she  sat  by  the  bed,  raised  him 
tenderly  and  talked  in  a  low  soft  voice  all  night 
long  ;  soft  and  sweet  and  tender  to  the  stranger 
as  the  voice  of  a  mother. 

She  held  his  hand  all  night,  as  if  she  would 
hold  him  back  from  crossing  over  the  river,  and 
talked  to  him  tenderly  as  if  to  draw  him  back 
to  earth. 

The  gray  dawn  came  at  last,  stealing  down 
the  mouth  of  the  great  black  chimney,  through 
the  little  window  in  the  wall,  where  a  paper 


82       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

did  the  duty  of  a  pane,  and  there  the  men  still 
stood  in  a  row  around  the  walls  of  the  cabin, 
and  there  the  Widow  still  sat  holding  the  boy's 
hand,  cooling  his  brow,  calling  him  back  to  the 
world. 

And  he  came.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  knew 
his  fellow-men,  for  these  fevers  of  the  mountain 
are  sudden  and  severe,  and  their  work  is  soon 
done  or  abandoned. 

After  that  the  camp  had  a  patron  saint.  The 
Parson  fell  ill  next,  but  the  boys  rated  him  so 
soundly  about  his  motive  —  as  if  any  man  could 
have  a  motive  in  falling  ill  —  that  he  fell  to 
cursing,  and  cursed  himself  into  a  perspiration, 
and  so  got  well. 

One  morning  the  Widow  found  a  nugget  of 
gold  on  her  doorstep.  What  particular  goose 
of  the  camp  had  laid  that  great  gold  egg  before 
her  door  she  did  not  know.  Maybe,  after  all, 
it  was  only  the  devotion  of  some  honest,  clear 
headed  man,  some  wealthy,  fortunate  fellow 
who  wanted  to  quietly  reward  her  for  her  noble 
deeds  in  the  day  of  trouble. 

Then  came  another  nugget,  and  then  another. 
She  laid  them  in  a  row  on  her  mantel-piece,  and 
men  (for  visitors  were  not  so  infrequent  now 
as  at  first)  would  come  in,  handle  them,  make 
their  observations,  guess  from  what  claim  this 
one  came  or  that ;  and  no  man  there  ever  told 


IS   ILL.  83 

or  Hinted  or  in  any  way  remarked  that  he  had 
sent  this  or  that,  or  had  had  any  part  in  the 
splendid  gifts  that  lay  so  carelessly  on  the  little 
Widow's  mantel-piece. 

The  little  dreamer,  the  boy-poet,  was  once 
more  seen  on  the  trail  with  his  pick  and  pan 
looking  for  gold  in  the  earth  by  day,  for  gold 
in  the  skies  at  night.  But  never  a  word  did  he 
whisper  of  the  awful  threat  of  the  Parson. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A   SCENE  IN  THE   SIERKAS. 

TO  the  amazement  of  all  the  Forks,  one  day, 
when  a  bearded  man  in  gum  boots,  slouch 
hat,  and  blue  shirt,  reached  in  at  the  Widow's 
for  his  washing,  the  hand  that  reached  it  out 
was  not  the  Widow's.  It  was  the  little  brown 
lazy  hand  of  Washee-Washee. 

Of  course  the  camp  did  not  like  this.  This 
Chinaman  to  them  was  a  sort  of  eclipse,  a  dark 
body  passing  between  the  miners  and  their  sun. 
They  remonstrated,  and  the  Parson  bore  the 
remonstrance  to  the  Widow  in  a  speech  of  his 
own ;  and,  to  his  own  great  surprise  it  was  not 
ornamented  with  a  single  oath. 

"  The  Forks  began  his  reformation ;  let  me 
go  on  with  it.  Why  not?"  answered  the 
woman. 

"  You  will  be  plundered." 

"  Of  what  ?  " 

The  Parson  looked  at  the  gold  nuggets  on 
the  mantel-piece,  and  shifted  the  quid  of  tobacco 
from  right  to  left. 

84 


A  SCENE  IN  THE   SIERRAS.  85 

"  Washee-Washee  will  lie,"  began  the  Widow 
soberly.  "  He  can  lie,  and  he  does  lie,  very 
cheerfully  and  very  rapidly,  in  spite  of  his 
name,  which  might  suggest  better  things ;  but 
he  steals  no  more  —  do  you,  little  brownie  ?  " 

Washee-Washee's  little  black  eyes  glistened 
with  gratitude.  The  little  pagan  was  coming 
up  in  the  social  scale.  The  Widow  had  begun 
her  missionary  business  where  all  the  world 
ought  to  begin  it  —  at  home.  „, 

The  Parson  went  away.  He  felt  that  some 
how  his  footing  with  the  Widow  was  shaken, 
and  that  he  must  do  something  to  redeem  the 
day. 

The  Parson  was  always  trying  to  do  some 
thing  original.  He  concluded  to  "  lay  for  "  the 
Chinaman. 

He  took  a  fresh  quid  of  tobacco,  stowed  him 
self  away  in  the  bush,  and  waited. 

In  the  twilight,  the  mournful,  the  sad,  but 
beautiful  ghost  of  the  great  golden  days  of  the 
Sierras,  a  hand  reached  out  and  took  Washee- 
Washee  by  the  queue  as  a  man  would  take  a 
tethered  horse  by  the  lariat. 

The  little  man  did  not  smile  as  before.  He 
even  struck  back  with  his  little  brown  bony 
hands.  He  wound  one  of  them  in  the  Parson's 
beard,  and  shouted  aloud  to  the  empty  woods. 
The  valor  of  honesty  was  on  him. 


86        FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

However,  kick  as  he  might  and  shout  as  he 
could,  it  all  did  but  little  good,  and  the  Parson 
proceeded  very  coolly  to  take  him  by  the  two 
heels,  hold  him  up  in  the  trail,  and  shake  him 
in  a  smooth  level  part  of  it,  just  as  if  he  was 
about  to  empty  a  bag,  and  did  not  wish  to  waste 
the  contents. 

Now  the  Parson  was  not  at  all  vicious  on  this 
occasion ;  he  had  no  wish  to  harm  the  China 
man  :  he  only  wished  to  help  the  Widow.  He 
shook  Washee  -  Washee  in  perfect  confidence 
that  he  would  find  all  the  gold  nuggets,  half 
the  spoons,  and  nearly  all  the  household  goods 
in  the  little  Widow's  warm  and  sparely  furnished 
room.  He  had  not  been  a  bit  surprised  if  he 
had  shaken  out  the  Widow's  goods  and  wares, 
her  wash-tub,  and  clothes-line.  "Ah,  certainly," 
said  the  Parson,  pausing,  to  himself,  "  for  is  not 
Washee-Washee's  line  the  clothes-line  ?  " 

Shake,  shake,  shake.  It  was  of  no  use.  Some 
thing  had  fallen  from  his  blue  blouse,  but  it  was 
not  gold.  He  stood  the  little  man  down,  with 
the  other  end  up,  and  was  a  bit  angry  that  he 
did  not  go  on  smiling  as  before. 

He  stooped,  and  picked  up  the  little  black 
object  that  had  been  shaken  from  the  brown 
little  fellow  before  him.  The  Parson  began  to 
swear.  It  was  only  a  little  ten-cent  Testament, 
in  diamond  type,  with  a  cloth  cover.  The 


A   SCENE  IN   THE   SIERRAS.  87 

Parson  put  his  head  to  one  side,  filliped  the 
leaves  with  his  thumb  and  finger,  and  then, 
feeling  perfectly  certain  that  it  did  not  belong 
to  any  of  the  boys  in  the  camp,  and  equally 
certain  that  it  was  not  an  article  that  he  cared 
to  carry  around  loose  with  him,  he  filliped  the 
leaves  again,  and,  handing  it  back  to  Washee- 
Washee,  said,  uGit!  " 

The  Parson  took  one  end  of  the  trail,  and  the 
little  pagan  the  other. 

A  Missourian  who  lay  in  his  bunk  up  against 
the  wall,  smoking  his  pipe  of  "pigtail"  after 
supper,  looked  out  from  his  cabin  window 
through  the  wood  and  up  towards  the  Parson's 
cabin,  where  the  trail  wound  on  the  hillside 
above  him. 

"  It's  a  thunderin'  and  a  lightnin'  like  cats 
and  dogs.  There's  a-gwyne  to  be  a  storm  to 
night." 

But  it  was  only  the  Parson  swearing  at  his 
bad  luck  and  that  Chinaman. 

"  Only  a  Testament !  "  Then  an  idea  struck 
him  like  an  inspiration.  Did  not  the  good  little 
Widow  give  the  brown  wretch  this  thing  ? 

He  stopped  swearing,  stood  still  in  the  trail 
a  moment,  and  then,  giving  a  long  whistle  as  he 
drew  a  long  breath,  he  went  on  to  his  cabin  in 
silence. 

That  Testament  troubled  the  Parson.     There 


88  FIRST   FAMILIES  OF   THE   SIERRAS. 

was  not  much  religion  in  the  Forks.  There  was 
little  sign  of  anything  of  that  kind  among  the 
men  of  the  Sierras.  Perhaps  there  were  other 
Testaments  hidden  away  under  the  bunks  of 
the  miners,  but  they  were  never  visible.  I  know 
of  one,  the  gift  of  a  good  mother,  that  forever 
refused  to  get  lost,  or  wear  out,  or  disappear 
under  any  circumstances.  Other  books  would 
get  themselves  borrowed  and  never  come  back, 
other  books  would  get  themselves  thrummed 
and  thumbed,  the  backs  torn  off,  and  the  leaves 
torn  out,  but  this  one  little  book  with  its  black, 
modest  cover  was  always  the  same.  It  looked 
as  new  and  nice,  as  ready  to  be  read,  as  full  of 
hope  and  promise,  after  ten  years  of  service  in 
the  Sierras,  as  it  did  the  day  it  first  nestled 
down  in  the  bottom  of  the  carpet-bag  to  wait 
patiently  for  the  prodigal  to  return  and  feed 
upon  its  glorious  promises. 

But  the  presence  of  this  book  had  a  wider 
meaning  than  all  this  to  the  Parson. 

Williams  had  been  a  sort  of  Calvin.  He  was 
a  terrible  religious  enthusiast.  It  was  his  de 
votion,  his  misled  enthusiasm,  that  made  him 
take  part  in  the  persecution  and  death  of  the 
so-called  prophet.  It  was  that  which  brought 
the  awful  persecution  upon  him  and  his.  The 
children,  it  was  said,  inherited  their  father's 
religious  zeal. 


A   SCENE  IN   THE   SIERRAS.  89 

This  Testament  was  to  the  Parson  only 
another  evidence  that  the  Widow  was  indeed 
the  missing  Nancy  Williams.  He  told  all  this 
in  confidence  to  a  knot  of  friends  the  next  day. 

Deboon  only  brushed  and  brushed,  with  both 
hands,  a  pet  fox  which  perched  friskily  on  his 
shoulder,  but  said  nothing. 

The  Gopher  slowly  arose  and  shook  himself. 
Then  he  reached  out  his  fist  and  shook  it  in 
the  air. 

"  What  if  she  is  ?  By  the  eternal  Tom  Cats  ! 
What  if  she  is  the  real  living  and  breathing 
Nancy  Williams  ?  And  what  if  they  do  say  she 
killed  one  of  'em  the  night  before  she  got  away, 
eh  ?  Here  she  is  and  here  she  stays,  and  let 
me  see  the  Destroying  Angel,  Danite  or  Devil, 
that  dares  to  interfere." 

The  man  strode  out  of  the  cabin  like  a  king, 
and  Deboon  only  stroked  his  frisky  fox  and 
walked  on  after  him,  looking  back  quietly  at 
the  little  crowd  over  his  shoulder. 

Yet  for  all  that,  these  men  who  were  so  brave 
and  defiant  in  open  fight,  were  awed  and  almost 
terrified  by  the  strange  and  mysterious  order 
that  moved  so  secretly  and  so  certainly  upon  its 
victims,  and  no  other  man  there  gave  any  ex 
pression  to  his  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XL 
THE  PARSON'S  PURSUIT  OF  LOVE. 

BUT  the  Danites  did  not  again  openly  ap 
pear.  The  Widow  it  seemed  was  now 
secure,  and  the  men  began  to  forget  that  they 
had  ever  counted  her  the  last  of  the  doomed 
family,  or  suspected  that  there  was  blood  on 
her  hands. 

As  the  Summer  wore  away,  her  suitors 
dropped  off  like  early  candidates  for  office,  and 
left  the  field  almost  entirely  to  the  two  leading 
men  of  the  camp  —  Sandy  and  the  Parson. 

Sandy  was  a  man  of  magnificent  stature,  with 
a  graceful  flow  of  sandy  beard,  but,  as  I  have 
said,  an  awkward  child  of  nature.  A  born 
leader  of  men,  but  a  man  who  declined  to  lead 
unless  forced  to  come  to  the  front  by  his  fellows 
and  for  the  time  take  charge  of  whatever  matter 
was  under  consideration  in  the  camp.  Sandy 
was  a  man  you  believed  in,  trusted,  and  honored 
from  the  first.  There  was  not  a  crafty  fiber  or 
thought  in  his  physical  or  mental  make-up. 

The  Parson  was  a  successful  miner  ;  a  massive, 
90 


THE  PARSON'S  PURSUIT  OF  LOVE.       91 

Gothic  man,  though  not  so  tall  as  Sandy.  He 
had  been  a  sailor,  I  think.  At  all  events,  he 
had  a  blue  band  of  Indian  ink,  with  little  dia 
monds  of  red  set  in  between  the  bands,  on  his 
left  wrist.  Possibly  it  was  his  right  wrist,  for 
I  can  not  recall  positively  at  this  distance  of 
time,  but  I  think  it  was  the  left. 

The  Parson  was  the  first  authority  in  history, 
politics,  theology,  anything  whatever  that  came 
up.  I  do  not  think  he  was  learned ;  but  he  was 
always  so  positive,  and  always  so  ready  with  his 
opinions,  and  always  so  ready  to  back  them  up 
too,  that  all  were  willing  to  ask  his  opinion  in 
matters  of  doubt,  and  few  were  willing  to 
question  his  replies. 

After  awhile  it  became  talked  about  that 
Sandy  was  losing  ground  with  the  Widow  —  or, 
rather,  that  the  Parson  was  having  it  pretty 
much  his  own  way  there,  as  in  other  things  in 
the  camp,  and  that  Sandy  rarely  put  in  an  ap 
pearance. 

A  year  went  by  and  then  a  pretty  little 
cottage  began  to  peep  through  the  trees  from  a 
little  hill  back  of  town  ;  and  then  it  came  out 
that  this,  with  its  glass  windows  and  green 
window-blinds,  was  the  property  of  the  Parson, 
and  destined  as  the  home  of  the  Widow. 

I  think  the  camp  was  rather  pleased  at  this. 
True  there  was  a  bit  of  ambition  and  a  grain  of 


92       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

cunning  too  in  the  Parson's  nature,  which  made 
the  free,  wild  men  of  the  mountains  look  upon 
him  sometimes  with  less  favor  than  they  did  on 
Sandy.  Still  some  of  them  liked  him,  and  all 
were  glad  that  the  Widow  was  to  have  a  home 
at  last. 

But  somehow  the  wedding  did  not  come  on 
as  soon  as  was  expected,  and  the  Widow  kept 
on  rubbing,  rubbing,  day  after  day,  week  after 
week,  as  if  nothing  of  the  kind  was  ever  to 
hiippen  to  her. 

Late  in  the  Fall,  one  evening,  as  the  men 
stood  in  a  semicircle  in  the  Howling  Wilderness 
saloon,  with  their  backs  to  the  blazing  log  fire, 
Sandy  brought  his  fist  down  emphatically  on  the 
bar,  as  he  took  part  in  the  conversation,  and, 
turning  to  the  crowd,  said : 

"  It's  an  everlastin'  and  a  burnin'  shame  !" 

He  rested  his  right  elbow  on  the  bar,  and 
drew  the  back  of  his  left  hand  across  his  mouth, 
as  if  embarrassed,  and  again  began : 

"  It's  a  breathm'  and  a  burnin'  shame,  I  say, 
that  the  woman  has  got  for  to  go  on  in  this  way, 
a  washin'  of  duds  for  us  fellows  of  this  here 
camp.  If  this  here  camp  can  't  afford  one  lady 
in  its  precincts,  why,  then  I  shall  pull  up  stakes 
and  go  to  where  the  tall  cedars  cast  their 
shadows  over  the  coyote,  and  the  coyote  howls 
and  howls — and — and — " 


THE  PARSON'S  PURSUIT  OF  LOVE.        93 

He  wiped  his  mouth  again,  and  broke  down 
utterly.  But  he  had  said  enough.  A  respon 
sive  chord  was  touched,  and  the  men  fairly 
sprang  to  their  feet  with  delight  at  the  thought. 

Some  of  the  best  things  in  life  are  like  leads 
of  gold  —  we  come  upon  them  in  a  kind  of 
sudden  discovery. 

The  Parson's  eyes  twinkled  with  delight.  "  I 
move  that  Sandy  take  the  chair  for  this  occasion, 
and  second  the  motion,  and  plank  down  twenty 
ounces  for  the  Widow." 

Sandy  removed  his  slouch  hat,  blushed  behind 
his  beard  at  the  new  dignity,  and  said : 

"  Bully  for  you !  I  raise  you  five  ounces  and 
ante  the  dust." 

Here  he  drew  a  long,  heavy  purse  from  his 
pocket,  and  passed  it  over  to  the  bar-keeper,  who 
thereby  became  treasurer  of  the  enterprise  with 
out  further  remark.  The  Parson's  eye  twinkled 
again. 

"  I  see  your  five  ounces  and  go  you  ten  better." 

"  Called,"  said  Sandy,  and  he  pecked  at  the 
bar-keeper,  which  little  motion  of  the  head 
meant  that  that  further  amount  was  to  be 
weighed  from  the  purse  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Widow. 

One  by  one  the  boys  came  forward ;  and,  as 
the  enterprise  got  noised  about  the  camp,  they 
came  down  to  the  Howling  Wilderness  saloon 


94          FIRST   FAMILIES   OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

till  far  in  the  night,  to  contribute  what  they 
called  their  "  Widow's  mite." 

Even  the  head  man  of  the  company  up  the 
creek  known  as  the  "  Gay  Roosters,"  and  who 
was  notoriously  the  most  rough  and  reckless 
man  in  the  camp,  jumped  a  first-class  poker 
game,  where  he  was  playing  at  twenty  dollars 
ante  and  pass  the  buck,  to  come  in  and  weigh 
out  dust  enough  to  "  call "  the  Parson  and 
Sandy. 

The  Forks  felt  proud  of  itself  for  the  deed. 
Men  slept  sounder  and  awoke  in  a  better  humor 
with  themselves  for  the  act. 

Yet  all  this  time  it  was  pretty  well  conceded 
that  the  gold,  and  the  Widow  too,  would  very 
soon  fall  to  the  possession  of  the  Parson. 

"  Set  'em  deep,  Parson !  Set  'em  deep  !  " 
said  the  head  of  the  Gay  Roosters,  as  he 
shook  hands  with  the  Parson  that  night, 
winked  at  the  "boys,"  and  returned  to  his 
game  of  poker. 

There  had  been  many  a  funeral  at  the  Forks  ; 
but  never  a  birth  or  a  wedding.  But  now  this 
last,  with  all  its  rites  and  mysteries,  was  about 
to  come  upon  the  Forks ;  and  the  Forks  felt 
dignified  and  elated.  Not  /me  of  all  these 
thousand  bearded  men  showed  unconcern.  It 
was  the  great  topic  —  the  Presidential  campaign, 
the  Dolly  Varden  of  the  day.  The  approach- 


THE  PARSON'S  PURSUIT  OF  LOVE.       95 

ing  wedding  was  the  morning  talk,  the  talk  at 
noon,  and  the  talk  at  night. 

And  it  was  good  for  the  camp.  The  last 
fight  was  forgotten.  Monte  took  a  back  seat 
in  the  minds  of  these  strange,  strongmen  ;  and, 
if  the  truth  could  be  told,  I  dare  say  the  German 
undertaker,  who  had  set  up  under  the  hill,  noted 
a  marked  decline  in  his  business. 

The  "  boys  "  were  with  the  Parson,  and  the 
Parson  with  the  "  boys."  They  all  conceded 
that  he  was  a  royal  good  fellow,  and  that  the 
Widow  could  not  well  do  better. 

The  amount  of  gold  raised  by  the  men  in 
their  sudden  and  impulsive  charity  was  in  itself, 
for  one  in  the  Widow's  station,  a  reasonable 
fortune. 

"  What  if  she  gits  up  and  gits  ?  " 

The  man  who  said  that  was  a  narrow-minded, 
one-eyed,  suspicious  fellow,  who  barely  escaped 
being  knocked  down  by  the  head  of  the  "  Gay 
Roosters,"  and  kicked  into  the  street  by  the 
crowd. 

There  was  a  poor  Dutchman  in  the  camp  who 
had  been  crippled  in  the  first  settlement  of  the 
camp,  and  who  had  been  all  the  time  too  lame  to 
work  and  too  poor  to  go  away. 

The  Parson  and  Sandy  were  sent  in  a  com 
mittee  to  the  Widow  with  the  gold.  She 
smiled,  took  the  heavy  bag  in  her  hand,  turned, 

5 


96       FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

shut  the  door  in  their  faces,  but  did  not  say  a 
word.  That  evening  she  was  seen  to  enter  the 
crippled  Dutchman's  cabin.  The  next  day  the 
crippled  Dutchman  rode  up  the  trail  out  of 
camp,  and  was  seen  no  more. 

Still  later  in  the  Fall  the  Parson  sat  in  the 
Howling  Wilderness,  with  his  back  to  the  blaz 
ing,  crackling  fire,  having  it  all  his  own  way  at 
his  favorite  game  of  old  sledge. 

He  had  led  his  queen  for  the  jack  just  as 
though  he  knew  where  every  card  in  the  pack 
was  entrenched.  Then  he  led  the  king  with 
like  composure,  and  was  just  crooking  his 
fingers  up  his  sleeve  for  the  ace,  when  a  man 
in  black,  with  a  beaver  hat  and  white  necktie, 
rode  by  the  window  on  a  black  horse. 

"  Somebody's  a  dyin'  up  the  creek,  I  'speck," 
said  Stubbs.  "  Maybe  it's  old  Yallar.  He 
allers  was  a  kind  of  a  prayin'  codfish  eatin' 
cuss,  any  how." 

Here  Stubbs  turned  and  kicked  nervously  at 
the  fire.  * 

The  game  did  not  go  on  after  that.  No  one 
said  any  thing.  Perhaps  that  was  the  trouble. 
The  men  fell  to  thinking,  and  the  game  lost  its 
interest. 

There  was  no  fight  of  importance  at  the 
Howling  Wilderness  that  night,  and  by  mid 
night  the  frequenters  of  the  saloon  had  with- 


THE  PARSON'S  PURSUIT  OF  LOVE.       97 

drawn.  The  candles  were  then  put  out,  and 
the  proprietors  barricaded  the  door  against 
belated  drunkards,  spread  their  blankets  on 
a  monte-table,  with  their  pistols  under  their 
heads,  and  by  the  smouldering  fire  were  at 
rest. 

The  ground  was  frozen  hard  next  morning, 
and  the  miners  flocked  into  the  Howling  Wil 
derness.  The  Parson  was  leading  off  gaily 
again,  and  swearing  with  unusual  eloquence  and 
brilliancy,  when  a  tall,  thin,  and  sallow  man, 
from  Missouri,  known  as  the  "  Jumper,"  enter 
ed.  He  looked  wild  and  excited,  and  stepped 
high,  as  if  on  stilts. 

The  tall,  thin  man  went  straight  up  to  the 
bar,  struck  his  knuckles  on  the  counter,  and 
nodded  at  the  red  bottle  before  him.  It  came 
forward,  with  a  glass  tumbler,  and  he  drank 
deep,  alone  and  in  silence. 

When  a  miner  of  the  Sierras  enters  a  saloon 
where  other  men  are  seated,  and  drinks  alone, 
without  inviting  any  one  j  it  is  meant  as  a  delib 
erate  insult  to  those  present,  unless  there  is 
some  dreadful  thing  on  his  mind. 

The  Jumper,  tall  and  fidgety,  turned  to  the 
Parson,  bent  his  back  against  the  counter,  and 
pushed  back  his  hat.  Then  he  drew  his  right 
sleeve  across  his  mouth,  and  let  his  arms  fall 
down  at  his  side  limp  and  helpless,  and  his 


98  FIRST  FAMILIES   OF   THE  SIERRAS. 

round,  brown  butternut  head  rolled  loose  and 
awkward  from  shoulder  to  shoulder. 

"  Parson." 

"  Well !  well !  Spit  it  out !  "  cried  the  Par 
son,  as  he  arose  from  the  bench,  with  a  dread 
ful  oath.  "  Spit  it  out !  What  in  h — 1  is  busted 
now?  " 

"  Parson." 

Here  the  head  rolled  and  the  arms  swung 
more  than  ever,  and  the  man  seemed  in  dreadful 
agony  of  mind. 

The  Parson  sprang  across  the  room  and 
caught  him  by  the  shoulder.  He  shook  him  till 
his  teeth  rattled  like  quartz  in  a  mill. 

"The  —  the  man  in  black,"  gasped  the 
Jumper.  "The  black  man,  on  the  black 
horse,  with  a  white  choker."  The  Parson 
looked  blank,  and  staggered  back,  as  the 
man,  gasping  for  breath,  concluded :  "  Well, 
he 's  gone  back ;  and  he  wo  n't  marry  yer. 
Cause  why,  he  says  Sandy  says  yer  got  one 
wife  now  any  how,  in  Missouri,  and  maybe 
two." 

The  Parson  sunk  into  a  seat,  dropped  his  face 
in  his  hands  for  a  moment,  trembled  only  a  little, 
and  arose  pale  and  silent.  He  did  not  swear  at 
all.  I  am  perfectly  certain  he  did  not  swear.  I 
know  we  all  spoke  of  that  for  a  long  time  after 
ward,  and  considered  it  one  of  the  most  remark- 


THE  PARSON'S  PURSUIT  OF  LOVE.       99 

able  things  in  all  the  strange  conduct  of  this 
man. 

When  the  Parson  arose  the  Jumper  shook 
himself  loose  from  the  counter,  and  tilted  across 
to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  to  give  him  place. 

The  stricken  man  put  his  hands  on  the  coun 
ter,  peeked  over  the  bar-keeper's  shoulder  at 
his  favorite  bottle,  as  if  mournfully  to  a  friend, 
but  said  not  a  word.  He  emptied  a  glass,  and 
then,  without  looking  right  or  left,  opened  the 
door,  and  went  straight  up  to  the  Parsonage. 
The  Parsonage  was  the  name  the  boys  gave  to 
the  cottage  on  the  hill  among  the  trees. 

"  Gone  for  his  two  little  bull-pups,"  said 
Stubbs.  That  was  what  the  Parson  called  his 
silver-mounted  derringers. 

"  There  will  be  a  funeral  at  the  Forks  to 
morrow,"  gasped  the  Jumper. 

Here  the  German  undertaker  arose  cheer 
fully,  and  went  down  to  his  shop. 

"  Well,  Sandy  is  no  sardine.  Bet  your  boots 
Sandy  ai  n't  no  sardine  !  "  said  Stubbs.  "  And, 
any  how,  he  's  got  the  start  just  a  little,  if  the 
Parson  does  nail  him.  For  he  's  won  her  heart ; 
and  that 's  a  heap,  I  think,  for  wimmen  's 
mighty  scace  in  the  mines  —  sumthin'  to  die 
for,  you  bet." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

GRIT. 

THE  Parson  was  absent  for  hours,  and  the 
Howling  Wilderness  began  to  be  impatient. 

"  He  's  a  heelin  himself  like  a  fighting-cock," 
said  Stubbs;  "and  if  Sandy  don't  go  to  king 
dom  come  with  his  boots  on,  then  chaw  me  up 
for  a  shrimp." 

The  man  here  went  to  the  door,  opened  it, 
put  his  head  out  in  the  frosty  weather,  and 
peered  up  the  creek  for  Sandy,  and  across 
the  creek  for  the  Parson,  but  neither  was  in 
sight. 

The  "  Gay  Rooster "  company  knocked  off 
from  their  work,  with  many  others,  and  came  to 
town  in  force  to  see  the  fight.  The  Howling 
Wilderness  was  crowded  and  doing  a  rushing 
business. 

The  two  bar-keepers  shifted  and  carefully 
arranged  the  sand-bags  under  the  counter,  which 
in  that  day  and  country  were  placed  there  in 
every  well-regulated  drinking  saloon,  so  as  to 
intercept  whatever  stray  bits  of  lead  might  be 

100 


GKIT.  101 

thrown  in  the  direction  of  their  bodies,  in  the 
coming  battle,  and  calmly  awaited  results. 

About  dark,  a  thin  blue  smoke,  as  from  burn 
ing  paper,  curled  up  from  the  chimney  of  the 
Parsonage,  and  the  Parson  came  slowly  forth. 

"  Blamed  if  he  has  n't  been  a  makin  of  his 
will  and  a  burnin  of  his  letters.  Looks  grum- 
mer  than  a  deacon,  too,"  added  the  man,  as  the 
Parson  neared  the  saloon. 

He  spoke  quietly  to  the  boys,  as  he  entered, 
but  did  not  swear.  That  was  thought  again 
remarkable  indeed. 

He  went  up  to  the  bar,  tapped  on  the  coun 
ter  with  his  knuckles,  threw  his  head  back  over 
his  shoulder  toward  the  crowd,  and  yet  appa 
rently  without  seeing  any  one,  and  said : 

"  Boys,  fall  in  line,  fall  in  line.  Rally  around 
me  once  again." 

They  fell  in  line,  or  at  least  the  majority  did. 
Some,  however,  stood  off  in  little  knots  and 
groups  on  the  other  side,  and  pretended  not  to 
have  heard  or  noticed  what  was  going  on. 
These  it  was  at  once  understood  were  fast 
friends  of  Sandy's,  and  unbelievers  in  the 
Parson. 

The  glasses  were  filled  quietly,  slowly,  and 
respectfully,  almost  like  filling  a  grave,  and 
then  emptied  in  silence. 

Again  it  was  observed  that  the  Parson  did 


102     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

not  swear.  That  was  considered  as  remarkable 
as  the  omission  of  prayer  from  the  service  in  a 
well-regulated  church,  and,  I  am  sure,  contrib 
uted  to  throw  a  spirit  of  restraint  over  the 
whole  party  friendly  to  the  Parson.  Besides, 
it  was  noticed  that  he  was  pale,  haggard,  had 
hardly  a  word  to  say,  and  most  of  all,  had  barely 
touched  the  glass  to  his  lips. 

No  one,  however,  ventured  to  advise,  ques 
tion,  or  in  any  way  disturb  him.  All  were 
quiet  and  respectful.  It  was  very  evident  that 
the  feeling  in  the  Forks,  at  first,  was  largely 
with  Sandy. 

But  Sandy  did  not  appear  that  evening.  This, 
of  course,  was  greatly  against  him.  The  Forks 
began  to  suspect  that  he  feared  to  take  the 
responsibility  of  his  act,  and  meet  the  man  he 
had  so  strangely  defamed,  and,  to  all  appear 
ances,  so  deeply  injured. 

The  next  day  the  saloon  was  crowded  more 
densely  than  before.  Men  stood  off  in  little 
knots  and  groups,  talking  earnestly.  There 
was  but  one  topic  —  only  the  one  great  subject 
—  the  impending  meeting  between  the  two 
leading  men  of  the  camp,  and  the  probable 
result. 

The  Parson  was  among  the  first  present  that 
day,  pale  and  careworn.  They  treated  him  with 
all  the  delicacy  of  women.  Not  a  word  was 


GRIT.  103 

said  in  his  presence  of  his  misfortune,  or  the 
occasion  of  their  meeting.  To  the  further 
credit  of  the  Forks  I  am  bound  to  say  that  there 
had  as  yet  been  no  bets  as  to  which  one  of  the 
two  men  they  -should  have  to  bury  the  next 
day. 

The  day  passed,  and  still  Sandy  did  not 
appear.  Had  there  been  any  other  way  out  of 
camp  than  through  the  Forks  and  up  the  rugged, 
winding,  corkscrew  stairway  of  rocks  opposite, 
and  in  the  face  of  the  town,  it  might  have  been 
suspected  that  he  had  taken  the  Widow  and 
fled  to  other  lands. 

The  Parson  came  down  a  little  late  next 
morning,  pale  and  quiet,  as  before.  He  did  not 
swear.  This  time,  in  fact,  he  did  not  even 
drink.  He  sat  down  on  a  bench  behind  the 
monte-table,  with  his  back  to  the  fire  and  his 
face  to  the  door.  The  men  respectfully  left  a 
rather  broad  lane  between  the  Parson  and  the 
door,  and  the  monte-table  was  not  patronized. 

The  day  passed ;  —  dusk,  and  still  Sandy  did 
not  appear.  By  this  time  he  had  hardly  three 
friends  in  the  house. 

"  Has  n't  got  the  soul  of  a  chicken !  "  "  Caved 
in  at  last !  "  "  Gone  down  in  his  boots !  " 
"  Busted  in  the  snapper  ! "  "  Lost  his  grip  !  " 
"  Do  n't  dare  show  his  hand !  "  These  and  like 
expressions,  thrown  out  now  and  then  from  the 

5* 


104     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

little  knots  of  men  here  and  there,  were  the 
certain  indications  that  Sandy  had  lost  his  place 
in  the  hearts  of  the  leading  men  of  the  Forks. 

Toward  midnight  the  bolt  lifted ! 

Shoo  ! 

The  door  opened,  and  Sandy  entered,  backed 
up  against  the  wall  by  the  door,  and  stood  there, 
tall  and  silent. 

His  great  beard  was  trimmed  a  little,  his 
bushy  hair  carefully  combed  behind  his  ears, 
and  the  neck-tie  was  now  subdued  into  a  neat 
love-knot,  in  spite  of  its  old  persistent  habit  of 
twisting  around  and  fluttering  out  over  his  left 
shoulder.  His  eye  met  the  Parson's  but  did  not 
quail. 

The  bar-keeper  settled  down  gracefully  behind 
the  bags  of  sand,  so  that  his  eyes  only  remained 
visible  above  the  horizon. 

The  head  of  the  "  Gay  Roosters "  tilted  a 
table  up  till  it  made  a  respectable  barricade  for 
his  breast,  and  the  crowd  silently  settled  back 
in  the  corners,  packed  tighter  than  sardines  in 
a  tin  box. 

You  might  have  heard  a  mouse,  had  it  crossed 
the  floor.  Even  the  fretful  fire  seemed  to  hold 
for  the  time  its  snappish  red  tongue,  and  the 
wind  without  to  lean  against  the  door  and 
listen. 

The  Parson  slowly  arose  from  the  table.    He 


GRIT.  105 

had  his  right  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  was  very 
pale. 

Experienced  shootists,  old  hands  at  mortal 
combat  with  their  kind,  glanced  from  man  to 
man,  measured  every  motion,  every  look,  with 
all  the  intense  eagerness  of  artists  who  are  favor 
ed  with  one  great  and  especial  sight,  not  to  be 
met  again.  Others  held  their  heads  down,  and 
only  waited  in  a  confused  sort  of  manner  for 
the  barking  of  the  bull-dogs. 

Neither  of  Sandy's  hands  were  visible ;  but, 
as  the  Parson  took  a  few  steps  forward,  and 
partly  drew  his  hand  from  his  pocket,  Sandy's 
right  one  came  up  like  a  steel  spring,  and  the 
ugly  black  muzzle  of  a  six-shooter  was  in  the 
Parson's  face. 

Still  he  advanced,  till  his  face  almost  touched 
the  muzzle  of  the  pistol.  He  seemed  not  to 
see  it,  or  to  have  the  least  conception  of  his 
danger. 

It  was  strange  that  Sandy  did  not  pull. 
Maybe  he  was  surprised  at  the  singular 
action  of  the  Parson.  Perhaps  he  had  his  eye 
on  the  unlifted  right  hand  of  his  antagonist. 
At  all  events  he  had  the  "drop,"  and  could 
afford  to  wait  the  smallest  part  of  a  second, 
and  see  what  he  would  do. 

"I  have  been  a-wait-ing"  —  the  Parson 
halted  and  paused  at  the  participle.  "  I  have 


106     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

been  a -wait -ing  for  you,  Sandy,  a  long 
time." 

His  voice  trembled.  The  voice  that  had 
thundered  above  a  hundred  bar-room  fights, 
and  had  directed  the  men  through  many  a  dif 
ficulty  in  camp,  was  now  low  and  uncertain. 

"  Sandy,"  he  began  again,  and  he  took  hold 
of  the  counter  with  his  left  hand,  "I  am  a- 
going-a-way.  Your  cabin  will  be  too  small 
now,  and  I  want  you  to  promise  me  to  take 
care  of  the  Parsonage  till  I  come  back." 

Sandy  sank  back  closer  still  to  the  wall,  and 
his  arm  hung  down  at  his  side. 

"  You  will  move  into  the  Parsonage  when  it 
is  all  over.  It 's  full  of  good  things  for  Winter. 
You  will  take  it,  I  say,  at  once.  Promise  me 
that." 

The  Parson's  voice  was  a  little  severe  here — 
more  determined  than  before  ;  and,  as  he  con 
cluded,  he  drew  the  key  from  his  pocket  and 
handed  it  to  Sandy. 

"  You  will  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

The  men  looked  a  moment  in  each  other's 
eyes.  Perhaps  they  were  both  embarrassed. 
The  door  was  convenient.  That  seemed  to 
Sandy  the  best  way  out  of  his  confusion,  and 
he  opened  it  softly  and  disappeared.  The  Howl 
ing  Wilderness  was  paralyzed  with  wonder. 


GRIT.  107 

The  Parson  looked  a  little  while  out  in  the 
dark,  through  the  open  door  and  was  gone. 
There  was  a  murmur  of  disappointment  behind 
him. 

"Don't  you  fear!"  at  last  chimed  in  the 
head  of  the  "  Gay  Roosters."  "  Do  n't  you 
never  fear !  That  old  sea-dog,  the  Parson,  is 
deeper  than  a  infernal  gulf." 

"  Look  here  !  "  He  put  up  his  ringer  to  the 
side  of  his  nose,  after  a  pause,  and  stroking  his 
beard  mysteriously,  said  :  "  I  say,  look  here  ! 
Shoo  !  Not  a  word  !  Softly  now  !  Powder  ! 
That 's  what  it  means.  Powder !  Gits  'em 
both  into  the  Parsonage  and  blows  'em  to 
kingdom  come  together  !  " 

The  Howling  Wilderness  was  reconciled.  It 
was  certain  that  the  end  was  not  yet,  by  a  great 
deal.  It  was  again  struck  with  wonder,  how 
ever  ;  and,  for  want  of  a  better  expression, 
took  a  drink  and  settled  down  to  a  game  of 
monte. 

Early  next  morning  —  a  morning  full  of 
unutterable  storms  and  drifts  of  snow  —  Sandy 
entered  the  Widow's  cabin. 

The  Parson  was  not  to  be  seen  either  at  the 
Howling  Wilderness  or  about  his  own  house. 

Men  stood  about  the  door  of  the  Howling 
Wilderness,  and  up  and  down  the  single  street, 
in  little  knots,  noting  the  course  of  things  at 


the  Parsonage,  and  now  and  then  shaking  their 
loose  blanket  coats  and  brushing  off  the  fast 
falling  snow. 

After  a  while,  when  the  smoke  rose  up  from 
the  chimney-top,  and  curled  above  the  Parson 
age  with  a  home-like  leisure,  as  if  a  woman's 
hand  tended  the  fire  below,  a  man  with  his  face 
muffled  up  was  seen  making  his  way  slowly  up 
the  rugged  way  that  led  from  town  across  the 
Sierra. 

It  was  a  desperate  and  dangerous  undertaking 
at  that  season  of  the  year.  He  made  but  poor 
headway  against  the  storm  that  came  pelting 
down  in  his  face  from  the  fields  of  eternal 
snow ;  but  he  seemed  determined,  and  pushed 
slowly  on.  Sometimes  it  was  observed  he 
would  turn,  and,  shading  his  eyes  from  the 
snow,  look  down  intently  at  the  peaceful 
smoke  drifting  through  the  trees  above  the 
Parsonage. 

"  Some  poor  idiot  will  pass  in  his  checks  to 
night,  if  he  don't  come  back  pretty  soon,"  said 
Stubbs,  as  he  nodded  at  the  man  up  the  hill, 
brushed  the  snow  from  his  sleeves,  and  went 
back  into  the  saloon. 

There  were  now  two  subjects  of  conversa 
tion  in  the  camp  ;  the  departure  of  the  Parson 
and  the  courtship  of  Sandy. 

One  day,  however,  there  was  quite  a  riffle  in 


GRIT.  109 

the  usually  smooth  current  of  affairs.  It  was 
this.  A  busy  meddling  man  was  seen  to  lay 
hold  of  Sandy,  and  talk  a  long  time  in  a  mys 
terious  and  suspicious  manner.  He  would  point 
to  the  cabin  of  the  Widow,  then  to  the  cabin 
of  the  Poet,  and  gravely  shake  his  head.  The 
man  was  heard  to  couple  the  two  names  to 
gether.  At  last  Sandy  shook  this  man  off,  and 
went  on  his  way  with  anything  but  a  satisfied 
look. 

After  an  open  demonstration  like  that,  the 
camp  felt  that  it  was  privileged  to  speak  openly 
what  it  had  seriously  but  silently  noted  before. 
It  had  now  three  topics  to  talk  about:  the 
departure  of  the  Parson,  the  courtship  of 
Sandy,  but  now  above  all  and  chiefly  the  secret 
and  frequent  visits  of  the  Poet  to  the  Widow's 
cabin. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AN  ANNOUNCEMENT. 

ONE  day  a  miner  laid  his  two  fingers  cross 
wise,  and  twisting  his  head  to  one  side 
as  he  spirted  a  stream  of  tobacco  juice  across 
the  saloon,  said :  "  Sandy  is  a  infernal  fool." 
The  men  winked,  and  he  went  on.  "  He  wants 
to  marry  that  ere  Widow.  Wai,  now,  that  ere 
Widow  is  in  love  with  that  ere  boy.  Nobody 
to  blame.  You  see  if  the  Widow  loves  the  boy 
that 's  the  Widow's  bizness,  not  mine ;  only 
Sandy  musn't  be  a  fool.  Besides," — and  here 
the  man's  voice  sank  low,  and  he  looked  around 
as  if  he  feared  a  Danite  might  be  standing  at 
his  elbow  — "  besides,  its  my  private  opinion 
that  that  ere  Widow  is  the  Nancy  Williams." 

It  was  late  in  the  Fall,  and  it  certainly  must 
have  been  a  cold,  frosty  morning,  for  Sandy's 
teeth  chattered  together  as  if  he  had  an  ague, 
when  he  told  the  Judge. 

In  fact,  he  stood  around  the  Howling  Wilder 
ness  more  than  half  a  day,  but  he  could  not,  or 
at  least  would  not  drink,  though  he  did  very 

110 


AN  ANNOUNCEMENT.  Ill 

many  foolish  things,  and  seemed  ill  at  ease  and 
troubled  in  a  way  that  was  new  to  him. 

At  last  he  got  the  Judge  to  one  side.  He 
took  him  by  the  collar  with  both  hands,  he 
backed  him  up  in  a  corner,  and,  as  he  did  so, 
his  teeth  chattered  and  ground  together  as  if 
he  stood  half-naked  on  the  everlasting  snows 
that  surrounded  them.  He  pushed  his  face 
down  into  the  red  apple-like  face  of  the  magis 
trate,  and  began  as  if  he  was  about  to  reveal 
the  most  terrible  crime  in  the  annals  of  the 
world.  All  the  time  he  was  holding  on  to  the 
Judge  with  both  hands,  as  if  he  feared  he 
might  not  listen  to  his  proposal,  but  tear  away 
and  attempt  to  escape. 

At  last  Sandy  drew  a  sharp,  short  breath, 
and  blurted  out  what  he  had  to  say,  as  if  it 
was  tearing  out  his  lungs. 

"  Good,  good  !  " 

The  Judge  drew  a  long  breath.  He  swelled 
out  to  nearly  twice  his  usual  importance.  You 
could  have  seen  him  grow. 

It  was  now  the  Judge's  turn  to  lay  hold  of 
Sandy.  For  now,  as  the  great  strong  man  had 
accomplished  his  fearful  task,  told  his  secret, 
and  done  all  that  was  necessary  to  do,  he 
wanted  to  get  away,  to  go  home,  go  anywhere 
and  collect  his  thoughts,  and  to  rest. 

The  Judge  held  him  there,  told  him  the  great 


112      FIKST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

advantages  that  would  come  of  it,  the  high 
responsibility  that  he  was  about  to  put  his 
shoulder  to,  and  talked  to  him,  in  fact,  till  he 
grew  white  and  stiff  as  a  sign-post.  Yet  all 
that  Sandy  could  remember,  for  almost  all  that 
he  said,  was  something  about  "  the  glorious 
climate  of  Californy." 

Never  rode  a  king  into  his  capital  with  such 
majesty  as  did  the  Judge  the  next  day  enter  the 
Forks.  He  was  swelling,  bursting  with  the 
importance  of  his  secret.  But  now  he  had 
Sandy's  permission  to  tell  the  boys,  and  he 
went  straight  to  the  Howling  Wilderness  for 
that  purpose. 

His  face  glowed  like  the  fire  as  he  stood 
there  rubbing  his  hands  above  the  great  mount 
ing  blaze,  and  bowing  right  and  left  in  a 
patronizing  sort  of  a  way  to  the  miners  who 
had  sauntered  into  the  saloon. 

At  last  the  little  red-faced  man  turned  his 
back  to  the  fire,  stuck  his  two  hands  back 
behind  his  coat-tails,  which  he  kept  lifting  up 
and  down  and  fanning  carelessly,  as  if  in  deep 
thought  —  stood  almost  tip-toe,  stuck  out  his 
round  little  belly,  and  seemed  about  to  burst 
with  his  secret. 

"  O  this  wonderful  Californy  climate  !  "  He 
puffed  a  little  as  he  said  this,  and  fanned  his 
coat-tails  a  little  bit  higher,  perked  out  his 


AN   ANNOUNCEMENT.  113 

belly  a  little  bit  further,  and  stood  there  as  if 
he  expected  some  one  to  speak.  But  as  the 
miners  seemed  to  think  they  had  heard  some 
thing  like  this  before,  or,  at  least,  that  the 
remark  was  not  wholly  new,  none  of  them  felt 
called  upon  to  respond. 

"Well"  — the  little  man  tilted  up  on  his 
toes  as  he  said  this,  and  took  in  a  long  breath 
—  "hit  comes  off  about  the  next  snow  fall." 

He  had  said  these  words  one  at  a  time,  and 
by  inches  as  it  were,  slowly,  deliberately,  as 
if  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  he  had  some 
thing  to  say,  and  that  the  men  were  bound  to 
listen. 

This  time  they  all  looked  up,  and  half  of 
them  spoke.  And  oh,  did  n't  he  torture  them  ! 
Not  that  he  pretended  to  keep  his  secret  of 
half  a  day  —  not  at  all !  On  the  contrary,  he 
kept  talking  on,  and  tip-toeing,  and  fanning  his 
coat-tails,  and  pushing  out  his  belly,  and  puffing 
out  his  cheeks,  just  as  careless  and  indifferent 
as  if  all  the  world  knew  just  what  he  was 
going  to  say,  and  was  perfectly  familiar  with 
the  subject.  "  Yes,  gentlemen,"  puffed  the 
little  man,  "on  or  about  the  next  snow-fall  the 
Widow,  as  a  widow,  ceases  to  exist.  That 
lovely  flower,  my  friends,  is  to  be  transplanted 
from  its  present  bed  to  —  to  —  into  —  the  — 
O  this  wonderful  climate  of  Calif orny  !  " 


114     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

The  Howling  Wilderness  was  as  silent  as  the 
Catacombs  of  Rome  for  nearly  a  minute. 

Then  Sandy  had  not  been  deterred  either 
by  the  Widow's  strange  intimacy  with  the 
eccentric  little  Poet,  or  by  the  suspicion  of 
the  camp  that  this  woman  was  the  last  of  the 
doomed  family. 

The  first  thing  that  was  heard  was  some 
thing  like  a  red-hot  cannon-shot.  The  cinna 
mon-headed  man  behind  the  bar  dodged  down 
behind  his  barricade  of  sandbags  till  only  his 
bristling  red  hair  and  a  six-shooter  were  visible. 
The  decanters  tilted  together  as  if  there  had 
been  an  earthquake. 

It  was  a  Missourian  swearing. 

Somebody  back  in  the  corner  said  "  Jer-u-sa- 
lem  !  "  —  said  it  in  joints  and  pieces,  and  then 
came  forward  and  kicked  the  fire,  and  stood  up 
by  the  side  of  the  red  little  man,  and  looked 
down  at  him  as  if  he  would  like  to  eat  him  for 
a  piece  of  raw  beef. 

A  fair  boy,  the  dreamer,  the  poet,  went  back 
to  a  bunk  against  the  further  wall,  where  the 
barkeeper's  bulldog  lay  sleeping  in  his  blankets, 
and  put  his  arms  about  his  neck,  and  put  his 
face  down  and  remained  there  a  long  time. 
Perhaps  he  wept.  Was  he  weeping  for  joy  or 
for  sorrow? 

There  was  a  great  big  grizzly  head  moved  out 


AN  ANNOUNCEMENT.  115 

of  the  crowd  and  up  to  the  bar.  The  head  rolled 
on  the  shoulders  from  side  to  side,  as  if  it  was 
not  very  firmly  fixed  there,  and  did  not  partic 
ularly  care  at  this  particular  time  whether  it 
remained  there  or  not.  A  big  fist  fell  like  a 
stone  on  the  bar.  The  glasses  jumped  as  if 
frightened  half  to  death ;  they  ran  up  against 
each  other,  and  clinked  and  huddled  together 
there,  and  fairly  screamed  and  split  their  sides 
in  their  terror.  A  big  mouth  opened  behind  an 
awful  barricade  of  beard,  again  the  big  fist  fell 
down,  again  the  glasses  screamed  and  clinked 
with  terror,  and  the  head  rolled  sidewise  again, 
and  the  big  mouth  opened  again,  and  the  big 
voice  said  : 

"  By  the  bald-headed  Elijah  !  "  and  that  was 
all. 

Then  there  was  another  calm,  and  you  might 
have  heard  the  little  brown  wood-mice  nibbling 
at  the  old  boots,  and  leather  belts,  and  tin  cans 
stowed  away  among  the  other  rubbish  up  in  the 
loft  of  the  Howling  Wilderness. 

Then  the  fist  came  down  again,  and  the  big 
mouth  opened,  and  the  big  mouth  said,  slow 
and  loud,  and  long  and  savage,  like  the  growl 
of  a  grizzly : 

"  Swaller  my  grandmother's  boots  !  "  Then 
the  man  fell  back  and  melted  into  the  crowd ; 
and  whatever  romance  there  was  in  his  life, 


116     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

whatever  sentiment  he  may  have  had,  whatever 
poetry  there  was  pent  up  in  the  heart  of  this 
great  Titan,  it  found  no  other  expression  than 
this. 

The  genteel  gambler,  who  sat  behind  a  table 
with  its  green  cloth  and  silver  faro-box,  forgot 
to  throw  his  card,  but  held  his  arm  poised  in 
the  air  till  any  man  could  have  seen  the  Jack 
of  Clubs,  though  a  thousand  dollars'  worth  of 
gold-dust  depended  on  the  turn. 

Yet  all  this  soon  had  an  end,  of  course,  and 
there  was  a  confusion  of  tongues,  and  a  noise 
that  settled  gradually  over  against  the  bar. 
Even  then,  it  was  afterwards  remarked,  though 
the  men  really  interested  did  not  know  it  at  the 
time,  that  the  cinnamon-headed  dealer  of  drinks 
put  cayenne  pepper  in  a  gin  cocktail  and  Schei- 
dam  schnapps  in  a  Tom  and  Jerry. 

Limber  Tim  was  there  in  their  midst,  but 
was  a  sad  and  a  silent  man.  Perhaps  he  had 
been  told  all  about  it  before,  and  perhaps  not. 
Tim  was  not  a  talker,  but  a  thinker.  This  to 
him  meant  the  loss  of  his  partner,  the  man  he 
loved  —  a  divorce. 

Poor  Limber !  he  only  backed  up  against  the 
wall,  screwed  his  back  there,  twisted  one  leg  in 
behind  the  other,  stuck  his  hands  in  behind  him, 
and  so  stood  there  till  he  saw  a  man  looking  at 
him.  Then  he  flopped  over  with  his  face  to  the 


AN   ANNOUNCEMENT.  117 

wall,  dug  up  his  great  pencil  from  his  great 
pocket,  and  fell  to  writing  on  the  wall,  and  try 
ing  to  hide  his  face  from  his  fellows. 

44  Rather  sudden,  ai  n't  it,  Judge  ?  " 

44  Well,  not  so  sudden  —  not  so  sudden,  con- 
siderin  this  —  this  —  this  glorious  climate  of 
Californy." 

After  awhile,  when  the  monte  game  had 
asserted  itself  again,  and  things  were  going  on 
in  the  saloon  just  about  as  they  were  before 
the  Judge  made  this  announcement,  a  tall  and 
inquisitive  man  with  a  hatchet  face  and  a  hump 
in  his  shoulder,  and  a  twist  in  his  neck,  which 
made  him  look  like  an  interrogation  point,  rose 
up,  and  reaching  his  neck  out  toward  the  bar, 
said  in  a  sharp  whisper : 

44 1  '11  bet  a  forty  dollar  hoss  she  's  the  real 
Nancy  Williams." 

The  red-headed  bar-keeper  bristled  up  like  a 
porcupine,  and  then  put  out  his  broad  hand  as 
if  it  was  an  extinguisher. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A   WEDDING  IN  THE   SIEKRAS. 

THE  wedding-day  came.  The  camp  had 
been  invited  to  a  man.  There  was  but 
one  place  in  the  camp  that  could  hold  a  tithe  of 
its  people,  and  that  was  the  Howling  Wilder 
ness.  The  plan  had  been  to  have  the  wedding 
under  the  pines  on  the  hill ;  but  the  wind  came 
pitching  down  the  mountain,  with  frost  and 
snow  in  his  beard,  that  morning,  and  drove 
them  to  the  shelter. 

What  a  place  was  that  Howling  Wilderness ! 
It  was  battle-field,  prize-ring,  dead-house,  gamb 
ling-hell,  court-house,  chapel,  every  thing  by 
turns. 

There  they  stood,  side  by  side  and  hand  in 
hand,  before  the  crackling  fire,  before  the  little 
Judge.  The  house  was  hot.  It  was  crowded 
thick  as  the  men  could  stand.  Tighter  than 
sardines  in  a  tin  box,  the  men  stood  there  bare 
headed  with  hardly  room  to  breathe.  The  fat 
little  magistrate  was  terribly  embarrassed.  He 
had  sent  all  the  way  across  the  mountains  by 
118 


A   WEDDING   IN   THE   SIERRAS.  119 

the  last  pack-train,  by  the  last  express,  by  the 
last  man  who  had  dared  the  snows,  but  no  pack- 
train,  no  express,  nothing  had  returned  with  the 
coveted,  the  so-much-needed  marriage  cere 
mony  and  service,  which  he  had  resolved  to 
read  to  the  people,  interspersed  with  such  re 
marks  and  moral  observations  as  the  case  might 
require.  Alas  !  the  form  of  the  ceremony  had 
not  arrived.  He  had  nothing  of  the  kind  to 
guide  him.  He  had  never  officiated  in  this 
way  before.  He  had  never  studied  up  in  this 
branch. 

Why  should  he  have  studied  up  in  this  line, 
when  there  was  but  one  woman  in  all  his  little 
world  ? 

As  the  form  had  not  arrived,  he  had  nothing 
in  the  world  but  his  moral  observations  to  use 
on  this  imposing  occasion,  and  he  was  embar 
rassed  as  a  man  had  never  been  embarrassed 
before. 

He  stood  there  trying  hard  to  begin.  He 
could  hear  the  men  breathe.  The  pretty  little 
woman  was  troubled  too.  Her  face  was  all 
the  time  held  down,  her  eyes  drooped,  and  she 
did  not  look  up  —  did  not  look  right  or  left  or 
anywhere,  but  seemed  to  surrender  herself  to 
fate,  to  give  herself  away.  Her  soul  seemed 
elsewhere,  as  if  she  sat  on  a  high  bank  above 
all  this,  and  was  not  of  it  or  in  it  at  all." 


120     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

"  Do  you  solemnly  swear  ?  " 

The  Judge  had  jerked  himself  together  with 
an  effort  that  made  his  joints  fairly  rattle.  He 
hoisted  his  right  hand  in  the  air  as  he  said  this, 
and,  having  once  broken  ground,  he  went  on  — 
"  Do  you  solemnly  swear  to  love,  and  honor, 
and  obey  ?  " 

Poor  Limber  Tim,  who  had  just  room  enough 
behind  the  Judge  to  turn  over,  here  became 
embarrassed  through  sympathy  for  the  little 
red-faced  magistrate,  and  of  course  flopped  over, 
and  began  to  write  his  name  and  the  date,  and 
make  pictures  on  the  wall,  with  a  nervous  rapid 
ity  proportionate  to  his  embarrassment'. 

"Do  you  solemnly  swear?  " 

It  was  very  painful.  The  little  man  took 
down  his  lifted  flagstaff  to  wipe  his  little  bald 
head,  and  he  could  not  get  it  up  again,  but  stood 
there  still  and  helpless. 

You  could  hear  the  men  breathe  deeper  than 
before  as  they  leaned  and  listened  with  all  their 
might  to  hear.  They  heard  the  water  outside 
gurgling  on  down  over  the  great  boulders,  over 
their  dams,  and  on  through  the  canon.  They 
heard  the  little  brown  wood-mice  nibble  and 
nibble  at  the  bits  of  bacon-rind  and  old  leather 
boots  up  in  the  loft  above  their  heads,  but  that 
was  all.  At  last  the  Judge  revived,  and  began 
again  in  a  voice  that  was  full  of  desperation : 


A  WEDDING   IN   THE   SIERKAS.  121 

"  Do  you  solemnly  swear  to  love,  and  protect, 
and  honor,  and  obey,  till  death  do  you  part ; 
and—" 

Here  the  voice  fell  down  low,  lower,  and  the 
Judge  was  again  floundering  in  the  water. 
Then  his  head  went  under  utterly.  Then  he 
rose,  and  "Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep  "  rolled 
tremulously  through  the  silent  room  from  the 
lips  of  the  Judge.  Then  again  the  head  was 
under  water,  then  it  rose  up  again,  and  there 
was  something  like  "  Twinkle,  twinkle,  little 
star."  Then  the  voice  died  again,  again  the 
head  was  under  water.  Then  it  rose  again, 
and  the  head  went  up  high  in  the  air,  and  the 
voice  was  loud  and  resolute,  and  the  man  rose 
on  his  tiptoes,  and  beginning  with  — "  When 
in  the  course  of  human  events,"  he  went  on  in 
a  deep  and  splendid  tone  with  the  Declaration 
of  Independence,  to  the  very  teeth  of  tyran 
nical  King  George,  and  then  bringing  his  hand 
down  emphatically  on  the  gambling  table  that 
stood  to  his  right,  said,  loud,  and  clear,  and 
resolute,  and  authoritatively,  as  he  tilted  for 
ward  on  his  toes,  "  So  help  you  God,  and  I 
pronounce  you  man  and  wife." 

The  exhausted  Judge  sank  back  against  the 
wall  on  top  of  Limber  Tim,  and  then,  as  if  he 
all  at  once  came  to  remember  a  part  of  the 
ceremony,  and  after  Sandy  and  the  Widow  and 


122     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

all  were  thinking  that  it  was  quite  over,  he 
began  in  a  low  but  clear  voice — 

"  Then  by  virtue  of  the  authority  in  me  vested, 
and  according  to  the  laws  and  the  statutes  of 
the  State  of  California  in  such  cases  made  and 
provided,  I  pronounce  you  man  and  wife." 

Then  he  rose  up,  came  forward,  and  shaking 
the  new  bride  by  the  hand,  then  lifting  it  to  his 
lips  and  kissing  it  gallantly,  he  said  carelessly, 
and  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  "  You  will 
pardon  me  for  pausing  occasionally  .as  I  did. 
The  room  is  so  warm  and  the  ceremony  is  so 
long,  that  I  really  began  to  be  exhausted." 

He  was  going  on  to  say  something  about  the 
glorious  climate  of  California,  but  the  men  came 
forward,  crowded  around  in  this  day  of  all  days, 
and  quite  squeezed  the  little  man  away  from  the 
"Widow,"  as  she  was  still  called. 

It  was  perfectly  splendid!  How  they  did 
shout,  and  laugh,  and  cheer,  and  how  careful 
they  were  to  shake  all  the  round  oaths  out  of 
their  speech  before  addressing  her.  And  how 
they  did  crowd  around,  as  Sandy  led  her  away, 
every  man  of  them,  even  to  Washee-Washee, 
to  wish  her  "God  speed,"  and  a  long  and  a 
pleasant  life  in  their  midst,  down  there  in  the 
gorge,  in  the  heart  of  the  great  Sierras. 

Only  two  circumstances  in  connection  with 
this  first  family  of  the  Sierras  worth  mention- 


A  WEDDING  IN  THE   SIERRAS.  123 

ing,  occurred  for  some  months.  The  first  of 
these  was  the  banishment  of  the  boy-poet 
from  the  presence  of  the  Widow.  Sandy  led 
her  at  once  to  the  "parsonage "  with  the 
green  window  blinds,  as  he  had  solemnly 
promised  the  Parson  to  do.  Into  this  house 
the  boy  was  never  seen  to  enter.  Sandy,  it 
was  whispered,  had  forbidden  him  the  house. 
The  verdict  of  the  Camp  was:  Served  him 
right. 

The  other  little  event  was,  to  all  appear 
ances,  of  still  less  consequence.  Yet  it  showed 
that  there  was  a  storm  brewing,  and  it  was  a 
straw  which  showed  which  way  the  wind  was 
blowing.  The  boy  was  seen  late  at  night  by 
some  men  who  were  passing,  peering  in  at 
the  Widow's  window.  He  ran  away  like  one 
caught  in  a  crime.  But  they  said  he  "  looked 
pale  as  a  ghost,  and  sickly,  and  sad,  and 
lonesome." 


CHAPTER  XV. 
WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  NOW! 

JUST  exactly  how  many  days  or  weeks  or  even 
months  had  blown  over  the  Forks  through 
the  long  bleak  winter  since  the  wedding  no  man 
knew.  These  men  in  the  mountains,  snowed 
up  for  half-a-year,  where  there  is  no  business, 
where  there  is  no  law,  no  church,  nothing  but 
half-wild  men  hard  at  work  —  these  men,  I  say, 
sometimes  forget  the  day,  the  week,  even  the 
month.  Yet  the  Day  of  the  week  is  always 
kept.  Six  days  they  labor  in  the  mine;  the 
seventh,  they  do  not  rest,  but  they  at  least  do 
not  mine. 

Certainly  there  was  snow  on  the  day  of  the 
wedding,  and  certain  it  was  that  there  was  a 
little  fall  of  snow  on  the  high  hill-sides,  and  in 
the  black  fir  tops,  and  the  great  pines  were 
tipped  in  white,  as  Sandy  hurried  from  his  cabin 
down  to  the  Forks  in  search  of  his  now  divorced 
and  forgotten  Limber  Tim.  He  was  pale  and 
excited.  He  pushed  his  great  black,  broad  hat 
down  over  his  eyes  as  he  hurried  on  down  the 

124 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  NOW!          125 

trail,  slipping  and  sliding  over  the  worn  walk, 
over  the  new  sprinkle  of  snow,  in  his  great  big 
gum  boots.  Then  he  pushed  his  hat  back  so  as 
to  get  the  cool  wind  of  March  in  his  face  and 
even  the  blustering  snow  in  his  beard. 

He  found  Limber  at  last  standing  on  one  leg 
by  the  great  log  fire  in  the  Howling  Wilderness, 
lonesome  as  a  crow  in  March.  He  pulled  his 
hat  again  down  over  his  eyes  as  he  approached 
his  old  partner,  and  stooped  his  shoulders  and 
looked  out  from  under  its  rim,  as  if  he  was  half 
afraid  or  else  was  half  ashamed. 

In  all  western  towns,  in  all  mines,  in  all  cities, 
great  or  small  for  that  matter,  there  is  always 
one  common  center.  Here  it  was  the  Howling 
Wilderness.  If  a  man  felt  sad,  what  better 
place  than  the  Howling  Wilderness  saloon  to 
go  to  for  distraction  ?  If  a  man  felt  glad,  where 
else  could  he  go  to  share  his  mirth. 

Here  was  happiness  or  unhappiness.  All 
great  extremes  run  together.  Tears  flow  as 
freely  for  joy  as  for  grief.  Between  intense 
delight  or  deepest  sorrow  the  wall  is  so  thin  you 
can  whisper  through  it  and  be  heard. 

Here,  at  fifty  cents  a  glass,  you  had  dealt  out 
to  you  over  a  great  plank  laid  up  upon  a  bar 
ricade  of  sand-bags,  that  were  laid  there  to 
intercept  any  stray  bullet  that  might  be  making 
its  way  towards  the  crimson-headed  vendor  of 


126        FIRST   FAMILIES   OF   THE  SIERRAS. 

poisons,  almost  any  drink  that  you  might  name. 
And  it  is  safe  to  say  that  all  of  the  following 
popular  drinks,  that  is  Old  Tiger,  Bad  Eye, 
Forty  Rod,  Rat  Pizen,  Rot  Gut,  Hell's  Delight, 
and  Howling  Modoc,  were  all  made  from  the 
same  decoction  of  bad  rum,  worse  tobacco,  and 
first-class  cayenne  pepper.  The  difference  in 
proportion  of  ingredients  made  the  difference 
in  the  infernal  drinks. 

If  one  of  those  splendid,  misled  fellows,  who 
really  knew  no  better,  felt  very  sad,  he  took 
one  of  these  drinks ;  if  he  felt  very  glad  he 
took  two. 

Sandy  wheeled  on  his  heel  the  moment  he 
found  his  old  friend,  and  went  out  without  say 
ing  a  word.  He  stood  there  in  the  snow,  the 
wind  twisting  about  his  beard,  blowing  his  old 
hat -rim  up  and  down,  and  he  seemed  as  one 
lost.  At  length  he  lifted  the  latch  again 
hastily,  hesitated,  looked  back,  around,  up  to 
wards  his  cabin  on  the  hill,  and  then  suddenly 
pushing  his  hat  back  again,  as  if  he  wanted 
room  to  breathe,  he  tumbled  into  the  saloon, 
went  right  up  before  Limber  Tim,  and  bringing 
his  two  hands  down  on  his  two  shoulders,  said 
tremulously,  "  Limber  Tim." 

Sandy  had  laid  hold  of  him  as  if  he  had 
determined  to  never  let  him  go  again,  and  the 
man  fairly  winced  under  his  great  vice-like 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  NOW!          127 

grasp.  He  looked  at  the  back  log  on  the  fire, 
looked  left  and  right,  but  did  not  look  Sandy 
in  the  face.  If  he  had,  he  would  for  the  first 
time  in  all  his  timid  experience  have  been  able 
to  have  had  it  all  his  own  way. 

"  O  Limber  !  " 

Sandy  had  fished  up  one  of  his  hands  high 
enough  to  pull  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  and 
now  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  a  hat  rim  and 
the  fringe  of  a  grizzly  beard. 

Limber  Tim  looked  up.  He  never  before  had 
heard  his  old  partner's  voice  troubled,  and  he 
was  very  sorry,  and  began  to  look,  or  to  try  to 
look,  Sandy  in  the  face.  Up  went  a  big  hand 
from  a  shoulder,  back  went  the  old  hat,  and  then 
Limber  Tim  looked  to  the  left  at  a  lot  of  picks 
and  pans,  and  torn  irons,  and  crevicing  spoons, 
that  lay  up  against  the  wall,  but  did  not  speak. 

"  Limber  Tim  !     I  tell  you.     My  —  my  — " 

Sandy  choked.  He  never  had  yet  been  able 
to  call  her  his  wife.  He  had  tried  to  do  so  over 
and  over  again.  His  dear  little  wife  had  taught 
him  many  things  —  had  made  him,  in  fact, 
another  man,  but  she  never  could  get  him  to 
speak  of  her  to  the  other  miners  but  as  "  the 
Widow."  He  had  gone  out  by  himself  and 
practiced  it  in  the  dark  to  himself;  he  was 
certain  he  could  say  it  in  the  crowd,  but  some 
how  just  at  the  moment  he  tried  to  say  it  he 


128       FIRST  FAMILIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

was  certain  some  one  was  thinking  about  it  just 
as  he  was,  was  watching  him,  and  so  it  always 
and  for  ever  stuck  in  his  throat.  How  he  loved 
her !  How  tender  he  was  to  her  all  the  time ! 
How  he  did  little  else  but  think  of  her  and  her 
happiness  day  and  night ;  but  he  had  been  a 
savage  so  long,  had  been  with  the  "  boys  "  so 
much,  that  he  could  not  find  it  in  his  power  to 
say  that  one  dear  word.  It  was  like  a  new 
convert  trying  to  pray  in  public  in  one  of  the 
great  camp  meetings  of  the  West ;  or  to  stand 
up  before  all  his  neighbors  and  confess  his  sins. 
He  stood  still  only  a  second ;  in  fact,  all  this 
took  but  a  moment,  for  Sandy  was  in  a  terrible 
hurry.  Limber  Tim  had  never  seen  him  in  such 
a  hurry  before.  Up  shot  the  hand,  down  slid 
the  hat,  and  Sandy  was  quite  hidden  away  again. 
It  was  a  moment  of  terrible  embarrassment. 
When  an  Englishman  is  embarrassed  he  takes 
snuff;  when  a  Yankee  is  embarrassed  he  whips 
out  a  jack-knife  and  falls  to  whittling  anything 
that  he  can  find,  not  excepting  the  ends  of  his 
fingers ;  but  a  true  Californian  of  Sierras  jerks 
his  head  at  the  boys,  heads  straight  up  to  the 
bar,  knocks  his  knuckles  on  the  board,  winks, 
at  the  bar-keeper,  pecks  his  nose  at  his  favorite 
bottle,  fills  to  the  brim,  nods  his  head  down  the 
line  to  the  left,  then  to  the  right,  hoists  his 
Poison,  throws  back  his  head,  and  then  fall* 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  NOW!          129 

back  wiping  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his 
hand,  quite  recovered  from  his  confusion. 

Sandy  backed  his  partner  into  a  corner 
rapidly,  and  then,  laying  his  hands  again  on  his 
shoulders,  said  :  "  Limber  Tim  !  she  's  sick  !  " 

He  had  to  throw  his  head  forward  to  say  it. 
It  came  out  as  if  jerked  from  his  throat  by  a 
thousand  fish-hooks. 

He  raised  his  two  great  hands,  and  reaching 
out  his  face  again  clutched  the  two  shoulders, 
and  said,  "  She  's  d— d  sick  !  " 

Up  went  the  hands,  back  went  the  hat,  the 
door  was  jerked  open,  a  man  whirled  out  of  the 
door  as  if  he  had  been  a  whirlwind,  up  the  trail, 
up  over  the  stones  and  snow  and  logs.  Sandy 
climbed  to  his  cabin  on  the  hill,  while  the  boys 
followed  him  with  their  eyes ;  and  then  stood 
looking  at  each  other  in  wonder  as  he  disap 
peared  in  the  door. 

Through  the  cabin  burst  the  man,  and  back 
to  the  little  bedroom,  as  if  he  had  been  wild  as 
the  north  wind  that  whistled  and  whirled  about 
without. 

The  little  lady  lay  there,  quiet  now,  but  her 
face  was  white  as  ashes.  The  blood  had  gone 
out  from  her  face  like  a  falling  tide  ;  the  pain 
was  over,  but  only,  like  a  tide,  to  return. 

How  white  she  was,  and  how  beautiful  she 
was !  How  helpless  she  was  down  there  in  the 


130      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

deep,  hidden  in  a  crack  of  the  world,  away  from 
all  old  friends,  away  from  all  her  kindred,  all 
her  sex  and  kind.  She  was  very  ill,  so  alone 
was  she ;  not  a  doctor  this  side  of  that  great 
impassable  belt  of  snow  that  curved  away  like 
a  deep  white  wave  around  and  above  the  heads 
of  the  three  little  rivers.  Sandy  saw  all  this, 
felt  all  this.  It  cut  him  to  the  core,  and  he 
shook  like  a  leaf. 

What  a  pretty  nest  of  a  bed-room !  How 
fragrant  it  was  from  the  fir-boughs  that  were 
gathered  under  foot.  There  were  little  curtains 
about  this  bed,  there  deep  in  the  Sierras.  Coarse 
they  were,  it  is  true,  very  coarse,  but  white  as 
the  snow  that  whirled  about  without  the  cabin. 
Still,  you  might  have  seen  here  and  there  that 
there  were  cloudy  spots  that  had  refused  all  the 
time  to  be  quite  washed  out,  rub  and  soak  and 
soap  and  boil  them  as  the  Widow  and  Washee- 
Washee  would. 

If  you  had  lain  in  that  bed  through  a  spell  of 
sickness,  and  looked  and  looked  at  the  curtains 
and  all  things  as  sick  people  will  all  the  time  look 
and  look  when  they  lie  there  and  can  do  nothing 
else,  you  would  at  last  have  noticed  that  these 
coarse  but  snowy  curtains  had  been  made  of  as 
many  pieces  as  Jacob's  coat.  And  lying  there 
and  looking  and  looking,  you  would  have  at  last 
in  the  course  of  time  read  there  in  one  of  the 


WHAT  'S   THE   MATTER   NOW  !  131 

many   cloudy  spots,  these   words  stamped  in 
bended  rows  of  fantastic  letters : 
SELF-RISING  FLOUR 
WARRANTED  SUPERFINE. 
50  LBS. 

There  was  a  little  cracked  piece  of  looking- 
glass  on  the  wall,  no  bigger  than  your  palm.  It 
was  fastened  on  the  wall,  over,  perhaps,  the 
only  illustrated  paper  that  had  ever  found  its 
way  to  the  Forks.  There  were  little  rosettes 
around  this  little  glass  that  had  been  made  from 
leaves  of  every  color  by  the  cunning  hand  of 
the  Widow.  There  were  great  maple-leaves, 
and  leaves  of  many  trees  in  all  the  hues  of 
Summer,  hung  up  here  and  there,  sewn  together, 
and  made  to  make  the  little  bedroom  beautiful. 
And  what  a  treasure  the  little  glass  was !  It 
seemed  to  be  the  great  little  center  of  the  house. 
All  things  rallied,  or  seemed  to  be  trying  to 
rally,  around  it.  To  be  sure,  the  Widow  was 
not  at  all  plain. 

Plain !  to  Sandy  she  was  the  center  of  the 
world.  The  rising  and  the  setting  of  the  sun. 

The  carpet  had  been  finished  by  the  same 
cunning  hand.  This  had  been  made  of  gunny 
bags  sewn  together  with  twine  ;  and  under  this 
carpet  there  was  a  thick  coat  of  fine  fir-boughs 
that  left  the  room  all  the  time  sweet  and  warm, 
and  fragrant  as  a  forest  in  the  Spring.  There 


132     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

were  little  three-legged  benches  waiting  about 
in  the  corners  ;  but  by  the  bedside  sat  the  great 
work  of  art  in  the  camp,  a  rocking-chair  made 
of  elk  horns.  This  was  the  gift  of  a  rejected 
but  generous  lover. 

On  the  little  wooden  mantel-piece  above  the 
fire-place  there  stood  a  row  of  nuggets.  They 
lay  there  as  if  they  were  a  sort  of  Winter  fruit 
put  by  to  ripen.  They  were  like  oranges  which 
you  see  lying  about  the  peasants'  houses  in  Italy, 
and  almost  as  large.  These  were  the  gifts  of 
the  hardy  miners  of  the  Forks  to  their  patron 
saint ;  gifts  given  at  such  times  and  in  such 
ways  that  they  could  not  be  well  refused. 

Once  there  had  been,  late  in  the  night,  a  heavy 
stone  thrown  against  the  door,  while  the  two 
"  turtle  doves,"  as  the  camp  used  to  call  its  lov 
ers,  sat  by  the  fire. 

In  less  than  a  second  Sandy's  pistol  stuck  its 
nose  out  like  a  little  bull-dog  and  began  to  look 
down  the  hill  in  the  darkness. 

A  man  leaned  over  the  fence  and  laughed  in 
his  face.  "  Now  do  n't  do  that,  Sandy !  now 
do  n't."  Sandy  let  his  pistol  fall  half  ashamed  ; 
for  it  was  the  voice  of  a  friend. 

"  Good-bye,  Sandy ! "  the  man  called  back 
up  the  trail  in  the  dark.  "  Good-bye.  That  'a 
for  the  Widder.  Made  my  pile  and  off  for  Pike. 
Good-bye ! " 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  NOW!          133 

When  Washee-Washee  went  out  next  morn 
ing  for  wood,  there  he  found  lying  at  the  door 
the  cause  of  the  trouble  in  the  night.  It  was 
a  great  nugget  of  gold  that  the  rough  Missou- 
rian  had  thrown  to  his  patron  saint  as  he 
passed. 

Once  a  miner  sent  them  a  great  fine  salmon. 
The  Widow  on  opening  it  found  it  half  full  of 
gold.  She  took  all  this  back  to  the  man,  whom 
she  found  seated  at  the  green  table  at  the  Howl 
ing  Wilderness,  behind  a  silver  faro  box  ;  for  to 
mining  the  man  also  attached  the  profession  of 
gambler.  She  laid  this  heap  of  gold  down  on 
the  table  before  the  man  with  the  faro  box  and 
cards.  The  miners  gathered  around.  The  man 
with  the  silver  box  began  to  deal  his  cards. 

"  All  on  the  single  turn,  Missus  Sandy?  " 

The  Judge  came  forward,  "  Do  n't  bet  it  all 
on  the  first  deal,  do  you  ?  That 's  pretty  steep, 
even  for  the  oldest  of  us  !  " 

"  Bet !  I  do  n't  bet  at  all.  I  bring  Poker 
Jake  his  money  back.  I  found  this  all  in  the 
fish  he  sent  us.  It  is  his.  It  is  a  trick,  perhaps. 
Fish  do  n't  eat  gold,  you  know." 

"  O  yes  they  dus,  Missus  Sandy." 

Poker  Jake  stopped  with  the  card  half  turned 
in  the  air.  The  Widow  held  up  her  pretty 
finger  and  her  pretty  lips  pouted  as  she  made 
her  little  speech  to  the  gambler,  and  told  him 


134      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

she  could  not  keep  the  gold.  The  miners  gath 
ered  around  in  wonder  and  admiration. 

Jake  laid  down  his  card. 

"  Well,  can 't  a  salmon  eat  gold  if  he  likes  ?  " 

"No." 

"  There,  Missus  Sandy,  y'er  wrong  !  "  argued 
the  little  Judge,  and  then  he  began  to  tell  her 
the  story  of  Jonah  and  the  whale,  and  wound 
up  with  the  declaration  that  there  was  nothing 
at  all  unnatural  in  a  fish  eating  gold  in  "  this 
glorious  climate  of  Californy." 

"  Will  you  not  take  back  your  gold  ?  " 

"  Nary  a  red." 

There  was  a  pale  thoughtful  young  man,  half 
ill,  too  feeble  to  work,  to  leave,  to  retreat  from 
the  mountains,  standing  by  the  fire  when  the 
Widow  had  entered  the  saloon.  It  was  the  boy 
poet. 

She  took  up  the  bag  of  gold,  turned  around, 
looked  back  in  the  corner  of  the  saloon,  for  he 
had  retreated  out  of  sight  as  she  entered,  saw 
the  young  man  hiding  back  in  the  shade,  lean 
ing  over  the  bunk,  caressing  the  dog ;  possibly 
he  was  crying.  Her  face  lighted  with  a  light 
that  was  high  and  beautiful  and  half  divine. 

She  turned,  held  the  gold  out  to  Poker  Jake. 
,  "No!" 

"  And  then  is  it  mine  ?  all  mine,  to  do  as  I 
like  with  it  ?  " 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  NOW!          135 

Yours,  lady.  Yours  to  take  and  go  home 
and  git  from  out  of  the  canon,  out  of  this  hole 
in  the  ground,  and  live  like  a  Christian,  as  yer 
are,  and  not  live  here  like  a  wild  beast  in  a 
carawan." 

The  man  stood  up  as  he  spoke,  and  was  proud 
of  his  speech,  and  the  men  cheered  and  cheered 
and  said  : 

"Bully  for  Poker  Jake  !  " 

Then  the  little  Widow  turned  again,  went 
back  to  the  boy  leaning  over  the  bull-dog,  thrust 
it  in  his  arms  as  he  rose  to  look  at  her,  and  turn 
ing  to  the  men  was  gone. 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement  and 
disgust.  They  could  hardly  believe  their  senses. 

"  How  dare  she  do  it  before  us  all  ?  "  said  one. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

WAS  THE  WOMAN  INSANE? 

AS  the  boy  left  the  saloon  one  of  the  men 
said,  "  Now  I  guess  the  little  cuss  will 
git  up  and  dust."  And  that  thought  was 
their  consolation.  Not  that  they  hated  this 
boy,  but  they  felt  that  he  was  out  of  place 
in  the  cabin  of  their  "Widder." 

Other,  and  equally  ingenious  ways,  all  quite 
as  innocent,  had  been  used  by  the  miners  to 
force  their  gifts  upon  the  one  sweet  woman,  the 
patron  saint  of  the  camp,  until  she  might  have 
been  almost  as  wealthy  as  the  good  old  saint 
who  lies  mouldering  before  the  eyes  of  all  who 
care  to  pay  a  five-franc  note,  in  the  mighty 
cathedral  at  Milan.  But  now  they  would  do 
no  more. 

Nuggets,  and  bars,  and  scales,  and  specimens, 
and  dust  in  her  home  in  profusion.  And  why 
did  the  little  woman  remain  in  the  wilderness  ? 
Why  did  not  this  little  woman  rise  up  some 
morning,  smile  a  good-bye  to  those  about  her, 
leave  the  business  to  Washee-Washee,  take  her 

136 


WAS  THE  WOMAN  INSANE?  137 

great  big  bodyguard,  mount  a  mule,  turn  his 
head  up  the  corkscrew  trail  toward  the  clouds, 
toward  the  snow,  and  find  a  milder  clime  ? 

Who  could  she  have  been,  this  half  hermit, 
this  little  missionary  who  had  in  one  winter  half 
civilized,  almost  christianized,  a  thousand  sav 
age  men  without  preaching  a  single  sermon  ? 

Possibly  she  knew  how  rare  manhood  is  where 
men  are  thickest,  how  scarce  men  are  where 
they  stand  heaped  and  huddled  up  together  in 
millions,  and  was  content  to  remain  with  these 
rough  fellows,  doing  good,  receiving  their 
homage. 

Possibly  there  was  a  point  of  honor  in  thus 
remaining  with  these  men  of  the  mines.  It 
might  have  been  she  refused  to  go  away,  and 
leave  those  behind  her  in  the  wilderness  to 
whom  she  owed  all  the  camp  had  brought  her, 
because  they  would  have  missed  her  so  sadly. 

Arid  yet  after  all  had  things  gone  on  smoothly 
there  was  no  great  reason  for  her  to  hurry 
away.  But  as  it  was,  it  was  certainly  going  to 
blow  great  guns,  and  she  certainly  knew  it. 

But  here  she  was  now  ill,  very  ill.  All  this 
gold  was  dross.  It  was  nothing  to  her  now. 
She  could  hardly  lift  her  hand  to  the  row  of 
golden  oranges  that  lay  there  before  her  on  the 
little  mantel.  She  looked  at  Sandy  as  he 
entered  and  tried  to  smile.  There  were  tears 


138      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

in  her  eyes  as  she  did  this,  and  then  she  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

He  went  and  stood  and  looked  in  the  fire,  and 
tried  to  think  what  he  should  do.  Then  he 
went  and  stood  by  her  bed,  and  waited  there 
till  she  uncovered  her  face  and  looked  up. 

She  was  very  pale,  and  he  tried  but  could  not 
speak. 

"  Is  it  raining,  Sandy  dear?" 

She  asked  this  because  as  she  put  her  hand 
out  some  drops  fell  down  from  his  head  upon 
her  own. 

"  My  pretty  baby,  my  baby  in  the  woods, 
what  in  the  world  is  the  matter?  " 

He  leaned  over  her,  and  his  voice  trembled 
as  he  spoke.  Then  he  went  down  on  his  knees, 
and  his  beard  swept  her  face. 

"  Is  it  cold,  Sandy  dear  ?  Do  you  think  that 
we,  that  I,  could  cross  the  mountains  to-day? 
If  we  went  slow  and  careful,  and  climbed  over 
the  snow  on  our  hands  and  knees,  do  n't  you 
think  it  could  be  done,  Sandy  ?  " 

She  kept  on  asking  this  question,  and  arguing 
it  all  the  time,  because  the  man  kept  looking  at 
her  in  a  wild,  helpless  way,  and  could  not 
answer  a  word. 

"If  we  went  up  the  trail  a  little  way  at  a 
time,  and  then  rested  there  under  the  trees,  and 
waited  for  the  snow  to  melt,  and  then  went  on 


WAS   THE   WOMAN   INSANE?  139 

a  little  way  each  day,  and  so  on,  as  fast  as  it 
melted  off,  up  the  mountain,  do  n't  you  think 
it  could  be  done,  Sandy  ?  " 

The  man  was  dumb.  He  kneeled  there, 
grinding  his  great  palms  together,  looking  all 
the  time,  and  looking  at  nothing. 

There  was  a  long  silence  then,  and  still  Sandy 
kneeled  by  the  bed.  His  eyes  kept  wandering 
about  till  they  lighted  on  a  striped  gown  that 
hung  hard  by  on  the  wall.  He  fell  to  counting 
these  stripes.  He  counted  them  up  and  down, 
and  across,  and  then  counted  them  backward, 
and  was  quite  certain  he  had  got  it  all  wrong, 
and  fell  to  counting  it  over  again. 

The  little  woman  writhed  with  pain,  and  that 
brought  the  dreamer  to  his  senses  again.  It 
passed,  and  she,  pale,  fair,  beautiful,  with  her 
hair  about  her  like  folds  of  sable  fur,  she  put 
out  her  round  white  arms  to  the  great  half- 
grizzly,  half-baby,  by  her  side.  She  was  still  a 
long  time  then  ;  then  she  called  him  pretty 
names,  and  she  cried  as  if  her  heart  would 
break. 

"  Sandy,  I  told  you  it  was  not  best,  it  was 
not  right,  it  would  not  do,  that  you  would  be 
sorry  some  day,  and  that  you  would  blame  and 
upbraid  me,  and  that  the  men  would  laugh  at 
you  and  at  me.  But  you  would  not  be  put  off. 
Do  you  not  remember  how  I  shut  myself  up 


140     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

and  kept  away  from  you,  and  would  not  see 
you,  and  how  you  kept  watch,  and  sent  round, 
and  would  see  me  whether  or  no  ?  " 

He  now  remembered.  And  what  then  ?  Had 
he  repented  ?  On  the  contrary,  he  had  never 
loved  her  half  so  truly  as  now.  His  heart  was 
too  full  to  dare  to  speak. 

"  Do  you  not  remember  that  when  I  told  you 
all  this  would  happen,  that  you  said  it  could  not 
happen?  That,  happen  what  would,  no  man 
should  mock  or  laugh  or  reprove,  and  live  ? 
Well,  now,  Sandy  dear,  it  will  happen.  I  have 
done  you  wrong.  I  now  want  to  tell  you  to 
take  back  your  promise.  That  is  best." 

The  man  rose  up.  The  place  where  he  had 
hid  his  face  was  wet  as  rain. 

"  Sandy,  Sandy,  can  we  cross  the  mountains 
now?" 

The  little  lady  lay  trembling  in  her  bed  with 
her  hands  covering  her  face. 

Then  she  put  down  her  hands  and  looked  up 
into  the  face  of  her  husband. 

"  Sandy,  leave  me  !  " 

She  sprang  up  in  bed  as  she  said  this,  as  if 
inspired  with  a  new  thought. 

"  There !  take  that  gold,  this  gold  ;  all  of  it ! " 
She  left  her  bed  with  a  bound  and  heaped  the 
gold  together  and  turned  to  Sandy. 

"  Take  it,  I  tell  you,  and  go.     That  is  best ; 


WAS  THE  WOMAN  INSANE?  141 

that  is  right.  I  want  you  to  go  —  go  now  !  Go  ! 
Will  you  go  ?  Will  you  not  go  when  I  com 
mand  you  to  go?" 

"  Not  when  you  're  sick,  my  pretty  ;  get  well, 
and  then  I  will  go ;  go,  and  stay  till  you  tell 
me  I  may  come  back." 

"  Will  you  not  go?" 

"  Not  while  you  're  sick,  my  pretty." 

"  Then  I  will  go." 

She  caught  a  shawl  from  the  wall.  Her  face 
was  aflame.  She  sprang  to  the  door,  through 
the  door,  and  out  to  the  fence,  in  a  moment. 
Sandy's  arms  were  about  her  now,  and  he  led 
her  back  and  laid  her  in  her  bed. 

She  lay  there  trembling  again,  and  Sandy 
bent  above  her. 

"  Sandy,  when  all  the  world  turns  against  me 
and  laughs  at  me,  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

He  did  not  understand ;  he  could  not 
answer. 

"  When  men  laugh  at  me  when  I  pass,  what 
can  you  say,  and  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

"  What  will  I  do  ?  " 

The  man  seemed  to  hear  now,  and  to  under 
stand.  He  sprang  up,  spun  about,  and  tossed 
his  head. 

"  What  will  I  do  !  Shoot  'em  !  —  scalp  every 
mother's  son  of  'em !  "  And  he  brought  his 
fist  down  on  the  little  mantel-piece  till  the  bits 


142      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

of  gold  remaining  and  the  little  trinkets  leapt 
half  way  across  the  room. 

The  little  woman  lay  a  moment  silent,  and 
then  she  threw  back  the  clothes,  and  pushing 
Sandy  back,  as  if  he  had  been  a  great  child, 
sprang  up  again,  and  again  dashed  through  the 
door. 

Limber  Tim  had  been  standing  there  all  the 
time,  half  hidden  behind  the  fence,  against 
which  he  had  glued  his  back,  waiting  to  be  of 
some  use  if  possible  to  the  guardian  angel  of 
the  camp.  There  was  also  a  row  of  men  reach 
ing  within  hail  all  the  way  down  to  the  town, 
waiting  to  be  of  help,  for  Limber  Tim  had  told 
them  the  Widow  was  ill. 

The  man  started  from  his  fastening  on  the 
fence  at  sight  of  this  apparition,  wild,  half-clad, 
with  her  hair  all  down  about  her  loose,  ungath- 
ered  garments,  and  he  stood  before  her. 

"  I  want  to  go  home,"  the  woman  cried, 
wringing  her  hands.  "  I  want  to  go  home.  I 
will  go  home.  There  is  something  wrong.  You 
do  not  understand.  Sandy  is  an  angel ;  I  am 
a  devil.  I  want  to  go  home/' 

The  strong  man's  arms  were  about  her  again 
as  she  stood  there  on  the  edge  of  the  fence,  and 
he  bore  her  back,  half  fainting  and  quite  ex 
hausted,  into  the  house. 

He  laid  her  down,  and  stood  back  as  if  half 


WAS   THE  WOMAN   INSANE?  143 

frightened  at  what  he  had  done.  Never  Itefore 
had  he  put  out  a  finger,  said  a  word,  held  a 
thought,  contrary  to  her  slightest  and  most 
unreasonable  whim.  Then  he  came  back  tim 
idly,  as  if  he  was  afraid  he  would  frighten  her, 
for  she  began  to  tremble  again,  and  she  was 
whiter  than  before.  She  did  not  look  up,  she 
was  looking  straight  ahead,  down  toward  her 
feet,  but  she  knew  he  was  there  —  knew  he 
would  hear  her,  let  her  speak  never  so  low. 

"  When  the  great  trouble  comes,  Sandy,  when 
the  trouble  comes  and  covers  both  of  us  with 
care,  will  you  remember  that  you  would  not 
put  me  off?  When  the  trouble  comes,  will  you 
ever  remember  that  you  would  not  let  me  go 
away  ?  that  you  would  not  go  away  ?  Will  you 
remember,  Sandy  ?  " 

She  was  getting  wild  again,  and  sprang  up  in 
bed  as  she  said  this  last,  and  looked  the  man  in 
his  face  so  earnest,  so  pleading,  so  pitiful,  that 
Sandy  put  up  his  two  hands  and  swore  a  solemn 
oath  to  remember. 

She  sank  back  in  bed,  drew  the  clothes  about 
her,  hid  her  face  from  the  light,  and  then  Sandy 
drew  back  and  stood  by  the  fire,  and  the  awful 
thought  came  fully  and  with  all  its  force  upon 
him  that  she  was  insane. 

Ah !  that  was  what  it  was.  She  feared  she 
would  go  mad.  Mad  !  mad  !  He  thought  of 

7 


144 


all  the  mad  people  he  had  ever  seen  or  heard 
of;  thought  how  he  had  been  told  that  it  runs 
in  families;  how  people  go  mad  and  murder 
their  friends,  destroy  themselves,  go  into  the 
woods  and  are  eaten  by  wild  beasts,  lost  in  the 
snow,  or  drowned  in  the  waters  hurrying  by 
wood  and  mountain  wall,  and  then  he  feared 
that  he  should  go  mad  himself. 

" Poor  little  soul!"  he  kept  saying  over  to 
himself.  "  Poor,  noble  little  soul !  would  not 
marry  me  because  she  knew  she  would  go  mad." 
And  she  was  dearer  to  the  man  now  than  ever 
before. 

"  Sandy." 

The  sufferer  barely  breathed  his  name,  but 
he  leaned  above  her  while  yet  she  spoke. 

"Sandy,  bring  Billy  Piper." 

"What?"  He  threw  up  his  two  hands  in 
the  air.  The  woman  did  not  seem  to  heed  him, 
but,  resting  and  lying  quite  still  a  moment,  said, 
softly  — 

"Bring  Bunker  Hill." 

"Bring  what?  who?" 

"  Go,  bring  Bunker  Hill." 

If  his  wife  had  said,  "  Bring  Satan,"  or 
had  repeated  her  "  Bring  Billy  Piper,"  the 
man  could  not  have  been  more  surprised  or 
displeased. 

Now  this  Bunker  Hill,  or  Bunkerhill,  was  a 


WAS   THE   WOMAN  INSANE?  145 

poor  woman  of  the  town — the  best  one  there, 
it  is  true,  but  bad  enough,  no  doubt,  at  the  best. 
She  was  called  Bunker  Hill  by  the  boys,  and  no 
one  knew  her  by  any  other  name,  because  she 
was  a  sort  of  a  hunch-back. 

"Did  you  say,  my  pretty,  did  you  say — " 

"  Sandy,  bring  Bunker  Hill.  And  bring  her 
soon.  Soon,  Sandy,  soon ;  soon,  for  the  love 
of  God." 

The  woman  was  writhing  with  pain  again  as 
the  man  shot  through  the  door,  and  looked 
back  over  his  shoulder  to  be  sure  that  she  did 
not  attempt  to  leave  the  house  or  destroy  her 
self  the  moment  his  back  was  turned. 

Limber  Tim  was  there  waiting  silently  and 
patiently.  He  scratched  his  head,  and  won 
dered,  and  raised  his  brim  as  he  ran,  and  slid, 
and  shuffled  with  all  his  speed  down  the  trail 
toward  the  town  to  bring  the  woman.  Men 
stood  by  in  respectful  silence  as  he  passed. 
They  would  have  given  worlds  almost  to  know 
how  the  one  fair  woman  fared,  but  they  did  not 
ask  the  question,  did  not  stop  the  man  a  mo 
ment.  A  moment  might  be  precious.  It  might 
be  worth  a  life. 

There  are  some  rules  of  etiquette,  some  prin 
ciples  of  feeling  in  the  wild  woods  among  the 
wild  men  there,  that  might  be  transplanted  with 
advantage  to  a  better  society.  There  might 


146      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

have  been  a  feeling  of  disappointment  or  dis 
pleasure  on  the  part  of  the  men  standing  wait 
ing,  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  be  of  the  least 
possible  service,  as  they  saw  Bunker  Hill  leave 
town  to  return  with  Limber  Tim,  but  it  had  no 
expression. 

The  man  who  sat  behind  the  silver  faro-box 
no  doubt  felt  this  disappointment  the  keenest 
of  any  one. 

When  we  feel  displeased  or  disappointed  at 
any  thing,  we  are  always  saying  that  that  is 
about  the  best  that  could  be  done.  "  What  else 
could  she  do  ?  The  woman's  ill ;  the  Widder 
is  sick.  She  sends  for  a  woman,  a  bad  woman, 
p'raps,  but  the  best  we  got.  Well,  a -woman's 
better  as  a  man,  any  ways  you  puts  it.  What 
else  could  she  do  ?  A  bad  woman's  better  as  a 
good  man.  What  else  could  she  do  ?  I  puts  it 
to  you,  what  else  could  she  do  ?  " 

The  crowd  at  the  Howling  Wilderness  was 
satisfied.  But  the  men  stood  there  or  sat  in 
knots  around  the  bar-room  in  silence.  The 
crimson-headed  bar-keeper  had  not  seen  such  a 
dull  day  of  it  since  they  had  the  double  funeral. 
What  could  be  the  matter?  Men  made  all 
kinds  of  guesses,  but  somehow  no  one  hinted 
that  the  little  woman  was  mad. 

The  Roaring  Whirlpool,  as  the  Howling  Wil 
derness  was  sometimes  called,  drew  in  but  few 


WAS   THE   WOMAN   INSANE?  147 

victims  all  that  night.  Men  kept  away,  kept 
going  out  and  looking  up  toward  the  little  cabin 
on  the  hill. 

The  man  with  the  silver  faro-box  sat  by  the 
table  with  the  green  cloth,  as  if  in  a  brown 
study.  The  great  fire  blazed  up  and  snapped 
as  if  angry,  for  but  few  men  gathered  about  it 
all  that  evening.  The  little  brown  mice  up  in 
the  loft  could  be  heard  nibbling  at  the  old  boots 
and  bacon  rinds,  and  their  little  teeth  ticked 
and  rattled  together  as  if  the  upper  half  of  the 
Howling  Wilderness  had  been  the  shop  of  a 
mender  of  watches.  Now  and  then  the  man 
behind  the  silver  faro-box  filliped  the  pack  of 
cards  with  his  fingers,  turned  up  the  heels  of  a 
jack  in  the  most  unexpected  sort  of  way,  as 
if  just  to  keep  his  hand  in,  but  the  mice  had  it 
mostly  their  own  way  all  that  night. 

One  by  one  the  men  who  stood  waiting  drop 
ped  away  and  out  of  the  line  to  get  their  din 
ners,  but  still  enough  stood  there  the  livelong 
night  to  pass  a  message  from  mouth  to  mouth 
with  the  speed  of  a  telegram  into  town. 

Then  these  men  standing  there,  and  those 
who  went  away,  as  to  that,  fell  to  thinking  of 
Bunker  Hill.  Somehow,  she  had  advanced 
wonderfully  in  the  estimation  of  all  from  the 
moment  she  had  been  sent  for  by  the  Widow. 
It  was  a  sort  of  special  dignity  that  had  been 


148      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

conferred.  This  woman,  Bunker  Hill,  had 
been  knighted  by  their  queen.  She  had  been 
picked  out,  and  set  apart  and  over  and  above 
all  the  other  fallen  women  of  the  Forks. 

Even  Limber  Tim,  who  stood  there  on  one 
leg,  with  his  back  screwed  tight  up  against  the 
palings,  began  to  like  her  overmuch,  and  to 
wonder  why  she  also  would  not  make  some 
honest  man  an  honest  wife.  In  fact,  many  men 
that  night  recalled  many  noble  acts  on  the  part 
of  this  poor  woman,  and  they  almost  began  to 
feel  ashamed  that  they  had  sometimes  laughed 
at  her  plainness,  and  promised  in  their  hearts  to 
never  do  so  again. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

CAPTAIN    TOMMY. 

THERE  was  a  gray  streak  of  dawn  just 
breaking  through  the  black  tree-tops  that 
tossed  above  the  high,  far,  deep  snow,  on  the 
mountain  that  lifted  to  the  east,  as  the  door 
opened,  and  Bunker  Hill  came  forth  alone. 
There  were  ugly  clouds  rolling  overhead,  mix 
ing,  inarching,  and  counter-marching,  as  if  pre 
paring  for  a  great  battle  of  the  elements.  On 
the  west  wall  of  the  mountain  a  wolf  howled 
dolefully  to  his  mate  on  the  opposite  crest  of 
the  canon.  The  water  tumbled  and  thundered 
through  the  gorge  below,  and  sent  up  echoes 
and  sounds  that  were  sad  and  lonesome  as  the 
march  to  the  home  of  the  dead. 

She  came  out  into  the  gray  day,  slowly  and 
thoughtfully,  her  head  was  down,  and  when 
Limber  Tim  helped  her  over  the  fence  she  was 
shy  and  modest,  as  if  she  herself  had  been  the 
Widow. 

He  tried  to  ask  about  the  Widow,  but  that 
awful  respect  for  the  other  sex  that  seems  born 
149 


150     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

with  the  American  of  the  Far  West,  kept  him 
silent;  and  as  Bunker  Hill  led  on  rapidly 
towards  town  and  did  not  say  one  word  about 
the  sufferer,  he  followed,  as  ignorant  as  any 
man  in  camp. 

On  the  way  the  woman  slipped  on  the  wet 
and  icy  trail  and  fell,  for  she  was  in  terrible 
haste  and  terribly  excited.  Perhaps  she  cut 
her  arm  or  hand  on  the  sharp  stone  as  she  fell, 
for  as  she  hastily  arose  and  again  hurried  on,  she 
kept  rubbing  and  holding  her  right  arm  with 
her  left. 

She  led  straight  to  the  Howling  Wilderness, 
lifted  the  latch  and  entered.  She  looked  all 
around,  but  did  not  speak.  She  was  in  a  great 
hurry,  and  was  evidently  looking  for  some  one 
she  wished  to  find  at  once.  No  man  spoke  to 
her  now.  The  few  found  there  at  this  hour 
were  the  wildest  and  most  reckless  in  the  camp, 
but  they  were  respectful,  as  if  in  the  presence 
of  a  lady  born  and  bred  a  lady. 

There  was  something  beautiful  in  this  silence 
and  respect.  Even  the  man  with  the  silver 
faro-box  for  a  breastwork  rose  up  and  stood  in 
her  presence  while  she  remained.  He  did  not 
do  it  on  purpose.  He  would  not  have  done  it 
the  day  before  had  she  stood  before  him  by  the 
hour.  He  did  not  even  know  when  he  arose, 
but  when  she  bowed  just  the  least  bit,  and 


CAPTAIN   TOMMY.  151 

turned  away  and  went  out  again  into  the  cold 
and  did  not  drink  —  did  not  drink,  mind  you  — 
did  not  even  look  at  the  crimson-headed  man 
who  had  risen  up  in  perfect  confidence,  he 
found  himself  standing,  and  found  his  heart 
filling  with  a  kind  of  gallantry  that  he  had  not 
known  before.  He  had  risen  in  her  presence 
by  instinct. 

*  "  Come,  we  must  find  Captain  Tommy."  The 
woman  said  this  to  Limber  Tim  as  they  left 
the  saloon,  and  then  led  swiftly  on  to  Captain 
Tommy's  cabin. 

This  Captain  Tommy  was  a  character  and  a 
power  too,  and,  wretch  as  she  was,  was  a 
woman  to  be  leaned  upon,  arid  trusted  too  to 
the  last. 

True,  she  was  very  plain.  But  you  may 
adopt  it  as  one  of  your  rules  of  life,  and  act 
upon  it  with  absolute  certainty,  that,  if  you 
have  to  trust  any  woman,  trust  a  plain  one, 
rather  than  a  handsome  one  ;  for  the  plain  ones 
were  not  made  to  sell,  else  they  too  had  been 
made  handsome. 

"Not  to  be  too  particular  about  a  delicate 
subject,"  said  old  Baldy,  who  had  been  fortu 
nate  enough  to  know  her,  "her  memory  possi 
bly  may  reach  back  to  the  Black  Hawk  War." 

But  the  crowning  feature  of  this  woman  was 
her  enormous  head  of  hair.  It  was  black  as 

7* 


152     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

night  and  bushy  as  a  Kanaka's ;  all  about  her 
head  in  a  heap,  that  seemed  to  be  constantly  in 
motion.  But  at  the  back  and  down  between 
her  shoulders  it  had  gathered  into  a  queue,  and 
hung  down  there  like  a  bell-rope  with  a  black 
tassel  at  the  end. 

She  generally  kept  her  mouth  closed.  But 
men  observed  that,  when  she  wanted  to  say 
any  thing,  she  pulled  up  her  back,  took  hold* 
of  the  bell-rope,  and  pulled  and  pulled  till  her 
mouth  came  open ;  then  she  would  throw  out 
her  sunken  breast,  and  wind  and  wind  with  her 
two  hands,  and  corkscrew  at  her  back  hair,  and 
pull  and  twist  and  wind,  until  she  had  wound 
herself  up  so  tight  that  it  was  impossible  to 
close  either  her  mouth  or  her  eyes.  After  that 
she  could  talk  faster  than  any  man  in  the  world, 
and  faster  than  a  great  many  women,  until  she 
ran  down,  and  the  bell-rope  hung  loose  between 
her  shoulders.  Then  her  mouth  would  close 
suddenly,  and  she  would  have  to  stop  that  in 
stant,  even  if  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence,  until 
she  could  seize  the  bell-rope,  pull  herself  open 
and  wind  herself  up  again. 

The  Captain  had  admirers  in  the  Forks  ;  many 
and  many  a  worshiper,  and  not  altogether 
without  reason.  There  was  about  her  a  certain 
sweetness  of  nature  that  contrasted  well  with 
the  rough  life  in  which  she  was  thrown ;  and 


CAPTAIN  TOMMY.  153 

the  strong  men  noted  this,  and  liked  the  sense 
of  her  presence. 

Besides  that,  this  woman  had  a  certain  sin 
cerity  about  her,  a  virtue  that  is  as  rare  as  it  is 
dear  to  man.  I  think,  if  we  look  at  ourselves 
clearly,  we  will  discover  that  this  one  quality 
wins  upon  us  'more  than  any  other  —  that  is 
more  than  beauty,  more  than  gold  —  sincerity, 
earnestness.  For  my  part,  I  only  make  that 
one  demand  on  any  man  or  any  woman.  You  can 
not  be  graceful  at  will,  or  wealthy,  or  beautiful, 
or  always  good-natured ;  but  you  can  be  in 
earnest.  You  can  refuse  to  lie,  either  in  word 
or  in  deed.  I  demand  that  you  shall  be  in  ear 
nest  before  you  shall  approach  me.  Be  in 
earnest  even  in,  your  villainy. 

The  woman  knocked  on  the  door  with  her 
knuckles,  and  called  through  the  hole  of  the 
latch-string  to  the  woman  within  ;  for  Captain 
Tommy  was  also  a  woman,  and  a  woman  of  the 
order  —  of  a  less  order  even  —  than  this  good 
Samaritan,  who  stood  calling  through  the  key 
hole  and  shivering  with  the  cold. 

There  was  an  answer,  and  then  the  two  stood 
there  in  the  bleak,  still,  cold,  gray  morning 
together.  There  was  a  noise  of  somebody 
dressing  in  the  dark  very  fast,  a  hard  oath  or 
two,  the  scratching  of  a  match,  the  lifting  of  a 
latch  in  the  rear  of  a  cabin,  the  sound  of  a  man's 


154     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

boots  scratching  over  the  stones  of  a  back  trail 
that  led  to  the  Howling  Wilderness,  and  then 
the  door  opened,  and  Bunker  Hill  led  in  in 
stantly,  went  right  up  to  Captain  Tommy,  took 
her  hand  in  her  own,  and  whispered  in  her  ear. 

The  Captain  caught  her  breath,  and  then 
with  both  hands  up,  as  if  to  defend  herself, 
staggered  close  back  against  the  wall.  Then, 
as  if  suddenly  recovering  herself,  and  coming 
upon  a  new  thought,  she  relaxed  her  lifted 
arms,  let  them  fall,  and  rounding  her  shoulders, 
walked  up  to  the  smouldering  fire,  turned  her 
back,  put  her  hands  behind  her,  looked  at 
Bunker  Hill  sidewise,  and  said  — 

"  Yer  be  darned !  " 

"  It's  so,  Tommy,  sure  as  gospel,  and  we  want 
you.  She  wants  you.  She  sent  for  you  —  sent 
me,  and  you  will  come,  for  you  are  needed.  I 
can 't  go  it  all  night.  Some  people  must  be 
there,  and  that  some  people  must  be  women." 

"  No,  you  don't  play  me!  Go 'long  with 
yer  larks  !  Git !  "  The  Captain  was  getting 
out  of  temper.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Bunker 
Hill  went  close  up  to  her,  and,  leaning  up,  whis 
pered  sharply  in  her  ear. 

The  Captain  only  said,  "  Yer  be  blowed !  " 
and  turned  and  kicked  the  fire,  till  it  blazed  np 
and  filled  the  room  with  a  rosy  light,  such  only 
as  smouldering  pine  logs  can  throw  out  when 


CAPTAIN   TOMMY.  155 

roused  up  into  a  flame ;  and  then  she  turned 
around  and  looked  at  Bunker  Hill  as  if  she  had 
firmly  made  up  her  mind  not  to  be  hoaxed. 
She  looked  at  the  good-souled  hunch-back 
before  her  as  if  she  would  look  her  through ; 
then  suddenly  her  eyes  rested  on  one  of  her 
white  cuffs.  "  What  the  devil's  that  on  yer 
sleeve  ?  Been  in  a  row  again,  eh  ?  " 

"Come,  come,  there's  no  time  to  lose.  It's 
awful ! " 

Bunker  Hill  laid  hold  of  Captain  Tommy's 
arm,  and'  attempted  to  drag  her  to  the  door. 
She  was  getting  desperate. 

Tommy  pulled  back,  and  still  kept  looking 
at  the  excited  woman's  white  sleeve  or  cuff. 

"  What  the  devil's  that  on  your  sleeve  ?  It 
looks  like  blood." 

Bunker  Hill  lifted  her  arm,  looking  now  her 
self,  pulled  back  her  sleeve,  and  held  it  to  the 
light. 

"  Blood  it  is !     Will  you  believe  me  now  ?  " 

The  stubborn  woman,  who  had  been  standing 
on  the  defensive,  with  her  back  to  the  fire, 
darted  forward  now  all  excitement,  all  sympa 
thy.  She  snatched  her  outer  garments  from  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  where  they  had  lain  all  this 
interview,  and  threw  them  on  her  back.  -  She 
did  not  stop  to  fasten  them.  She  caught  a 
blanket  from  the  bed,,  threw  it  over  her  head,  as 


156      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

she  passed  out  all  breathless,  and  left  the  cabin- 
door  wide  open,  with  the  fitful  pine  fire  making 
ghosts  on  the  floor,  and  the  fitful  March  morn 
ing  riding  in  on  the  wind  and  sowing  it  with 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
"BLOOD!" 

LIMBER  TIM  all  this  time  had  held  his 
back  against  the  wall  as  firmly  as  if  it 
was  about  to  fall  on  all  their  heads,  and  their 
lives  depended  on  his  strength.  His  mouth 
had  been  wide  open  with  wonder.  He  had 
not  understood  at  all  from  the  first,  but  now  he 
was  more  than  bewildered  —  he  was  terrified. 

Blood !  blood  !  He  unscrewed  himself  from 
the  wall,  went,  winding  his  long  limber  legs  up 
the  trail,  past  the  Howling  Wilderness,  after 
the  silent  but  excited  women ;  and  all  the  time 
this  awful  sentence  of  Bunker  Hill's  was  shoot 
ing  through  his  brain — "Blood!  blood!  it  is! 
Will  you  believe  me  now  ?  " 

He  reached  his  post  by  the  pine  fence,  and, 
being  no  wiser  than  before,  he  again  wound 
himself  up  against  the  palings,  and  reached  back 
his  arms  and  wove  them  through  the  pickets, 
and  stood  there  on  one  leg  looking  over  his 
shoulder  as  the  two  women  disappeared  into 
the  Widow's  cabin. 

157 


158     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

Dawn  comes  slowly  down  in  these  dark,  deep, 
wooded  caiions  of  the  Sierras.  Morning  seems 
to  be  battling  with  the  night.  Night  is  en 
trenched  in  the  woods,  and  retreats  only  by 
inches  —  the  Battle  of  the  Wilderness. 

In  the  steel-gray  dawn,  cold  and  sharp,  Lim 
ber  Tim  heard  a  cry  that  knocked  him  loose 
from  the  fence.  He  picked  himself  together, 
and  again  twisted  himself  into  the  pickets  ;  but 
all  the  time  he  kept  seeing  Bunker  Hill  pushing 
back  her  sleeve,  holding  up  her  arm  in  the 
ghostly  light  of  the  pine-log  fire,  and  saying, 
"  Blood  it  is !  Will  you  believe  me  now  ?  " 

"  Blood,"  mused  the  man.  "  Somebody's 
hurt.  Somebody's  hurt  awful  bad,  too,  or  they 
would  n't  keep  a  feller  a-standin'  agin  a  fence 
the  whole  blessed  night." 

The  man's  teeth  began  to  chatter.  The 
thought  of  blood  and  the  bleak  cold  morning 
kept  them  smiting  together  as  if  he  had  had  an 
ague. 

A  man  in  great  gum  boots  came  screeching 
by  the  cabin  ;  his  nose  was  pointed  straight  for 
the  Howling  Wilderness,  but  backing  against 
Limber  Tim  as  he  hung  up  against  the  fence, 
stopped,  and  asked  timidly  and  very  respect 
fully  of  the  Widow. 

Limber  held  his  head  thoughtfully  to  one  side, 
as  if  he  was  trying  to  balance  the  important 


44  BLOOD  !  "  159 

facts  in  his  mind,  and  reveal  only  just  so  much 
of  the  condition  of  the  Widow,  or  Sandy,  or 
Bunker  Hill,  or  whoever  it  was  that  was  hurt, 
as  was  best,  and  no  more,  but  for  a  time  was 
silent. 

A  thought  struck  him,  and  he  mused :  San 
dy's  cut  his  foot,  or  p'raps  it 's  Bunker  Hill  shot 
herself  with  that  darned  pistol  she  allers  packs 
in  her  breeches'  pocket. 

"  Well,  an'  'ow  's  the  Widder  ?  "  The  man 
was  getting  impatient  for  his  drink. 

44  It  ain't  the  Widder  at  all.  It 's  Sandy. 
Sandy's  cut  his  foot  —  cut  his  foot  last  night  a 
cuttin'  wood  in  the  dark.  That 's  what 's  the 
matter." 

Limber  Tim  pecked  his  head,  pursed  up  his 
mouth,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  perhaps, 
felt  that  he  was  really  a  man  of  some  conse 
quence. 

44  By  the  holy  poker !  thought  it  was  the 
Widder." 

44  Not  much.  It's  Sandy.  Cut  his  foot,  I 
tell  yer.  Blood  clean  up  to  his  elbows.  Blood 
all  over  the  house.  Bunker  Hill  all  over  blood. 
Hell 's  a  poppin',  I  tell  yer."  And  poor  Lim 
ber  Tim  so  excited  himself  by  this  recital,  that 
he  broke  loose  from  the  fence,  and  chattered  his 
teeth  together  like  a  chipmunk  with  a  hazel-nut. 

Then  the  man  passed  on  down  the  trail,  and 


160     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

Limber  Tim  again  grew  on  to  the  fence,  and 
chattered  his  teeth  together,  and  waited  devel 
opments,  not  at  all  certain  that  he  had  not  lied. 

"  'Ow  's  the  Widder,  Limber  ?  " 

Limber  unloosed  himself  from  the  fence,  and 
tried  to  stand  straight  up  and  tell  the  truth  and 
nothing  but  the  truth. 

"  Better,  thank  yer.  That  is,  the  blood  is  stop 
ped,  or  most  of  it,  you  know  —  the  most  of  it. 
Bunker  Hill  is  hurt  some  too,  you  know.  Blood 
all  over  her  arm.  Poor  girl,  poor  girl !  but  she 
did  n't  whimper.  Not  she.  Nary  a  sniff." 

"  Both  of  'em  hurt  ?  " 

"  Yes,  same  bullet,  you  know  —  same  shot — 
same  pistol  —  same  — " 

The  man  had  too  much  to  tell  already,  and 
almost  ran  in  his  haste  to  reach  the  Howling  Wil 
derness  and  tell  what  had  happened. 

This  time,  as  Limber  Tim  screwed  himself  up 
against  the  fence,  he  felt  pretty  certain  that 
somewhere  or  somehow  during  the  morning  he 
had  lied  like  a  trooper,  and  was  very  miserable. 

"  Hard  on  Sandy  that,"  said  the  bar-keeper  to 
the  second  early-riser,  who  had  just  arrived,  as 
he  stood  behind  his  breastwork  in  his  night 
shirt,  and  handed  down  to  his  customer  his 
morning  bottle,  with  his  hairy  arms  all  naked, 
and  his  red  uncombed  hair  reaching  up  like  the 
blaze  from  a  pine-knot  fire. 


"BLOOD!"  161 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  man,  as  he  fired  a  volley 
down  his  throat,  and  then  fell  back  to  the  fire, 
wiping  his  big  bearded  mouth  with  the  back  of 
his  hand,  "  Yes,  but  Limber  Tim  says  she  '11 
soon  be  up  again ;  says  the  blood  's  all  stopped, 
and  all  that.  You  see,  the  signs  are  all  in 
her  favor.  It 's  a  good  thing  for  a  shot,  to  see 
it  bleed.  Best  thing  for  a  bad  shot  is  to  see  it 
bleed  well.  That  is,  if  yer  can  stop  the  blood 
in  time.  But  now,  in  this  'ere  case,  the  blood  's 
all  stopped.  Just  come  down  from  there.  Limber 
just  told  me  blood  's  all  stopped." 

There  was  a  man  standing  back  in  the  corner 
by  the  fire,  half  in  the  dark,  warming  the  lower 
end  of  his  back  and  listening  with  both  ears 
all  this  time.  He  now  came  out  of  the  dark, 
and  began  • — 

"You  darned  infernal  fool!  Sold  clean  out. 
It 's  not  the  Widder  at  all  — it 's  Sandy.  Split 
his  foot  open  with  an  ax.  Blood  gushed  out 
all  over  Bunker  Hill.  Kivered  Bunker  Hill 
with  blood  clean  up  to  the  elbows." 

u  And  what  the  devil  was  Bunker  Hill  a-doin' 
at  Sandy's  ?  " 

The  man  from  the  dark  saw  that  somebody  had 
been  sold,  and,  fearing  it  might  possibly  be  him 
self,  simply  pecked  at  the  other  man,  staggered 
up  to  the  bar,  pecked  at  the  head  that  blazed 
like  a  pine-knot  fire,  and  then  the  three  drank 


162     FIKST  FAM'LEES  OF  THE  SIEKRAS. 

in  silence.  There  was  a  sort  of  truce,  a  silent 
but  well-understood  agreement,  that  nothing 
further  should  be  said,  but  that,  when  the  truth 
came  out,  one  should  not  tell  on  the  other,  and 
turn  the  laugh  of  the  camp  upon  him. 

Early  the  men  began  to  drop  in  to  the  Great 
Whirlpool,  the  one  great  center  of  this  snow- 
walled  world,  to  ask  gently,  and  with  tender 
concern  in  their  faces,  after  the  fortunes  of  the 
Widow. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  the  cinnamon-haired 
little  man,  and  he  made  the  most  of  it.  Men 
fell  into  disputes  the  moment  they  arrived,  but, 
as  no  one  knew  any  thing,  they  always  settled 
it  with  a  treat  all  round,  and  then  waited  for., 
results. 

The  bar-keeper  was  appealed  to,  as  bar-keep 
ers,  like  barbers,  are  supposed  to  know  all  the 
news.  But  this  man,  like  most  bar-keepers  in 
the  wilderness,  was  a  cautious  man,  and  said  he 
knew  all  about  it,  but  could  not  take  sides  or 
decide  between  his  friends.  Time  would  tell 
who  was  right  and  who  was  wrong. 

At  last  the  Judge  rolled  in  like  a  little  sea  on 
the  shore.  He  had  come  straight  down  from 
the  Widow's ,  had  gone  up  to  get  the  truth  of 
the  matter,  and  had  unscrewed  Limber  Tim 
from  the  fence,  and  made  him  tell  all  he  knew 
of  the  unhappy  lady,  and  how  it  happened. 


"BLOOD!"  163 

Then  the  boys  backed  the  little  Judge  up 
against  the  bar,  and  stood  him  there,  and  read 
him  from  top  to  bottom,  as  if  he  had  been  a 
bulletin  board. 

"  Split  his  foot  clean  open,  you  see  !  Did  it 
while  a  choppin'  wood  in  the  dark." 

"  Speck  he  was  a  lookin'  at  the  Widder  when 
it  happened,"  half  laughed  a  big  man  with  a  big 
mouth,  and  a  voice  like  a  Numidian  lion. 

"  The  clumsy  cuss  !  " 

That  is  what  Oregon  Jake  said  after  catching 
his  breath  over  his  tumbler  of  Old  Tom.  And 
that  is  all  the  sympathy  that  Sandy  got  after 
they  found  out,  as  they  thought,  that  he  had 
only  split  open  his  foot  with  an  ax. 

"  The  clumsy  cuss  1  " 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HOW  DID  IT   HAPPEN? 

THE  sun  at  last  shot  sharply  through  the  far 
fir  tops  tossing  over  the  savage  and  sub 
lime  mountain  crest  away  to  the  east,  with  its 
battlement  of  snow,  and  Limber  Tim  was  glad 
at  the  sight  of  it,  for  he  was  very  cold  and  stiff, 
and  hungry  and  thirsty,  and  tired  of  his  post 
of  honor,  and  disgusted  with  himself  for  the 
miserable  mistakes  he  had  made  that  morning. 

He  had  been  standing  there  like  a  forlorn  and 
lonesome  cock  all  the  morning  on  one  foot,  wait 
ing  for  the  dawn,  and  now  he  fairly  wanted  to 
crow  at  the  sight  of  it. 

Men  came  and  went  now,  and  every  man 
asked  after  poor  Sandy. 

Limber  Tim  now  told  the  same  story  right 
straight  through,  all  about  how  it  happened, 
how  Bunker  Hill  was  "kivered"  with  blood, 
and  all  about  it,  even  to  the  most  minute  de 
tail  ;  for  certainly,  thought  he  to  himself,  it  is 
Sandy  or  Sandy  would  have  come  out  long  ago. 
He  even  believed  it  so  firmly,  that  he  began  to 

164 


HOW   DID   IT    HAPPEN?  165 

be  sorry  for  Sandy,  and  to  wonder  how  long  it 
would  be  till  Sandy  would  be  out  and  about 
again  on  crutches.  Then  he  said  to  himself,  it 
would  be  at  least  a  month  ;  and  then  when  the 
next  man  came  by  and  inquired  after  Sandy,  he 
told  him  that  in  a  month  Sandy  would  be  about 
on  crutches.  At  this  piece  of  information  Limber 
Tim  felt  a  great  deal  better.  He  said  to  himself 
he  was  very  glad  it  was  no  worse,  and  then  he 
screwed  his  back  tighter  up  to  the  fence  than 
before,  and  stood  there  trying  to  warm  in  the 
cold  sunlight  of  a  moist  morning  in  the  Sierras. 
It  was  like  standing  on  the  Apennines,  and 
turning  your  back  and  parting  your  coat  tails, 
and  trying  to  warm  by  the  fires  of  Vesuvius. 

In  the  midst  of  meditations  like  these  the 
door  opened,  and  Sandy  shuffled  through  it, 
shot  over  the  fence,  slapped  his  two  great  hands 
on  the  two  shoulders  as  before,  and  before 
Limber  Tim  could  unscrew  himself  from  the 
fence,  cried  out  — 

"  Whisky,  Limber !  whisky,  quick !  The 
gals  is  almost  tuckered  !  Go  !  Split !  " 

He  spun  him  around  and  sent  him  reeling 
down  the  trail,  then  returned  and  banged  the 
door  behind  him. 

Limber  Tim  scratched  his  ear  as  he  stumbled 
over  the  rocks  in  the  trail,  and  wound  his  stiff 
ened  legs  about  the  boulders  and  over  the  logs 


UNIVERSITY   I) 

oc  // 


166      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

on  his  way  to  the  Howling  Wilderness,  and  was 
sorely  perplexed. 

"  Wai,  it  ain't  Sandy,  any  way.  Ef  his  big 
hands  have  lost  any  of  their  grip  I  do  n't  see  it, 
anyhow."  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he 
said  this  to  himself,  for  they  still  ached  from 
the  vice-like  grip  of  the  giant. 

Still  Limber  Tim  was  angry,  notwithstand 
ing  the  discovery  that  his  old  partner  was 
sound  and  well,  and  he  lifted  the  latch  with 
but  one  resolution,  and  that  was  to  remain 
perfectly  silent  and  let  his  lies  take  care  of 
themselves. 

Men  crowded  around  him  as  he  entered  and 
gave  his  orders.  But  this  bulletin-board  was  a 
blank.  He  had  set  his  lips  together  and  they 
kept  their  place.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
troubled  and  shaky  existence  he  began  to  know 
and  to  feel  the  power  and  the  dignity  of  silence. 
He  knew  that  every  man  there  thought  that  he, 
who  stood  next  to  the  throne,  knew  all ;  and 
felt  dignified  by  this,  and  dared  even  to  look 
a  little  severe  on  those  who  were  about  to  ask 
him  questions. 

He  had  crammed  a  bottle  of  so-called  "  Bour 
bon  "  in  his  left  boot,  and  was  just  pushing  into 
the  right  a  "  phial  of  wrath,"  when  some  one  in 
the  cabin  sighed,  "Poor  Sandy  !  " 

Still  Limber  Tim  went  on  pushing  the  phial 


HOW   DID   IT   HAPPEN?  167 

of  wrath  into  his  gum  boot  as  well  as  he  could 
with  his  stiffened  fingers. 

Then  a  man  came  up  sharply  out  of  the 
crowd,  and  throwing  a  big,  heavy  bag  of  gold 
dust,  as  fat  as  a  pet  squirrel,  down  on  the 
counter,  proposed  to  raise  a  "puss  "  for  Sandy. 

This  was  too  much.  Limber  Tim  raised  his 
head,  and  slipping  as  fast  as  he  could  through 
the  crowd  for  the  door,  said,  back  over  his 
shoulder  — 

"  It  ain't  Sandy  at  all.  It 's  Bunker  Hill. 
It 's  the  gals.  The  gals  is  almost  tuckered." 

There  was  the  confusion  of  Babel  in  the 
Howling  Wilderness.  The  strange  and  contra 
dictory  accounts  that  had  come  down  from  the 
Widow's  —  their  shrine,  the  little  log  house 
that  to  them  was  as  a  temple,  a  city  set  upon  a 
hill — were  anything  but  satisfactory.  The  men 
began  to  get  nervous,  and  then  they  began  to 
drink,  and  then  they  began  to  dispute  again, 
and  then  they  began  to  bet  high  and  recklessly 
who  it  was  that  had  cut  his  foot. 

"  Got  it  all  right  now,"  said  poor  Limber  Tim 
to  himself  as  he  made  his  way  up  the  trail  as 
fast  as  possible,  with  the  two  bottles  in  the  legs 
of  his  great  gum  boots  for  safe  carriage.  "  Got 
it  all  right  now  !  That's  it.  Bunker  Hill  cut 
her  foot  or  shot  her  hand  with  that  darned 
derringer,  or  something  of  the  kind.  That 's  it, 


168      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

that 's  where  the  blood  came  from,  that 's  why 
she's  tuckered  —  that's  what's  the  matter." 
And  so  saying  and  musing  to  himself,  he  reached 
his  post,  uncorked  the  phial  of  wrath,  as  it  was 
called,  looked  in  at  the  contents,  turned  it  up 
towards  the  sun  as  if  it  had  been  a  sort  of  tel 
escope,  and  smacking  his  lips  felt  slightly  con 
firmed  in  his  opinion.  He  also  resolved  to  ask 
Sandy,  like  a  man,  what  the  devil  was  up  the 
moment  he  appeared. 

Again  the  door  flew  open,  Sandy  flew  out, 
rushed  over  the  fence,  took  the  Bourbon  from 
the  trembling  hand  of  Limber  Tim,  and  before 
he  could  get  his  wits  together  had  disappeared 
and  banged  the  door  behind  him. 

Limber  Tim  did  not  like  this  silent-dignity 
business  a  bit.  "  Lookee  here  !"  he  said,  as  he 
again  turned  the  telescope  up  to  the  sun,  and 
then  looked  at  the  door,  "  I  '11  see  what 's  what, 
I  reckon." 

He  went  up  to  the  fence,  leaned  over,  but  his 
heart  failed  him. 

Then  he  resorted  to  the  phial  of  wrath,  again 
looked  at  the  sun,  and  as  he  replaced  it  in  his 
boot  felt  bold  as  a  lion.  The  man  was  drunk. 
He  climbed  the  fence,  staggered  up  to  the  door, 
lifted  the  latch  and  pushed  it  open. 

Bunker  Hill  came  softly  out  of  the  bed-room, 
pushed  the  man  back  gently  as  if  he  had  been 


HOW  DID  IT  HAPPEN?  169 

a  child,  shut  the  door  slowly,  and  the  man  went 
back  to  his  post. 

Men  have  curiosity  as  well  as  women.  Weak 
women  over  weaker  tea,  discussing  strong  scan 
dal  in  some  little  would  -be  -fashionable  shoddy 
saloon  in  Paris,  are  not  more  curious  than  were 
these  half- wild  men  here  in  the  woods.  The 
difference  however  is,  this  was  an  honest  sym 
pathetic  interest.  It  was  all  these  men  had 
outside  of  hard  work  to  interest  them.  They 
wanted  to  know  what  was  the  matter  in  their 
little  temple  on  the  hill.  The  camp  was  getting 
wild. 

Limber  Tim  tried  to  screw  himself  up  against 
the  fence  for  some  time,  and  failing  in  this, 
turned  his  attention  again  to  the  phial  of  wrath. 
He  was  leaning  over,  trying  to  get  it  out  of  his 
boot  leg,  when  the  door  opened  and  Bunker 
Hill  stepped  out  carefully,  but  supple  and 
straight  as  he  had  ever  seen  her. 

Limber  Tim  was  quite  overcome.  He  looked 
up  the  canon  and  then  down  the  canon. 

"  They  '11  be  a  comet  next."  He  shook  his 
head  hopelessly  at  this  remark  of  his,  and  again 
bent  down  and  wrestled  with  the  boot  leg  and 
bottle. 

"  Bully  for  Bunker  Hill.  Guess  she  's  not 
hurt  much  after  all." 

The  men  went  out  of  the  Howling  Wilder- 


170     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

ness  as  the  man  who  shot  this  injunction  or 
observation  in  at  the  door  went  in,  and  to  their 
amazement  saw  the  woman  alluded  to  walk 
rapidly  on  past  the  saloon.  She  did  not  look 
up,  she  did  not  turn  right  or  left  or  stop  at  the 
saloon  or  speak  to  any  one  ;  she  went  straight 
to  her  own  cabin.  Then  the  men  knew  for  a 
certainty  that  it  was  the  little  Widow  who  was 
ill,  and  they  knew  that  it  was  this  woman  who 
was  nursing  her,  and  they  almost  worshiped  the 
ground  that  the  good  Samaritan  walked  upon. 

Soon  Bunker  Hill  came  out  again,  and  again 
took  the  trail  for  the  Widow's  cabin,  and  walk 
ing  all  the  time  rapidly  as  before.  The  men  as 
she  passed  took  off  their  hats  and  stood  there 
in  silence. 

There  was  a  smile  of  satisfaction  on  her  plain 
face  as  she  climbed  the  hill.  She  went  up  that 
hill  as  if  she  had  been  borne  on  wings.  Her 
heart  had  never  been  so  light  before.  For  the 
first  time  since  she  had  been  in  camp,  she  had 
noticed  that  she  was  treated  with  respect.  It 
was  a  rare  sensation,  new  and  most  delightful. 
The  hump  on  her  back  was  barely  noticed  as 
she  passed  Limber  Tim  trying  to  lean  up  against 
the  fence,  and  entered  with  a  noiseless  step,  and 
almost  tip-toe,  the  home  of  the  sufferer. 

The  men  respected  this  woman  now  more  than 
ever  before.  They  also  respected  her  silence. 


HOW  DID   IT   HAPPEN?  171 

At  another  time  they  would  have  called  out  to 
her ;  sent  banter  after  her  in  rough  unhewn 
speech,  and  got  in  return  as  good,  or  better, 
than  they  sent.  But  now  no  man  spoke  to  her. 
She  had  been  dignified,  sanctified,  by  her  mis 
sion  of  mercy,  whatever  it  meant  or  whatever 
was  the  matter,  and  she  was  to  them  a  better 
woman.  Men  who  met  her  on  her  return  gave 
her  all  the  trail,  and  held  their  hats  as  she 
passed.  One  old  man  gave  her  his  hand  as  she 
crossed  a  little  snow  stream  in  the  trail,  and 
helped  her  over  it  as  if  she  had  been  his  own 
child.  Yet  this  old  man  had  despised  her  and 
all  her  kind  the  day  before. 

She  went  and  came  many  times  that  day,  and 
always  with  the  same  respect,  the  same  silent 
regard  from  the  great  Missourians  whom  the 
day  found  about  the  Forks. 

Then  Captain  Tommy  came  forth  in  the  even 
ing,  and  also  went  on  straight  to  her  cabin,  and 
her  face  was  full  of  concern.  The  Captain  had 
not  been  a  person  of  any  dignity  at  all  the  day 
before,  but  now  not  a  man  had  the  audacity  to 
address  her  as  she  passed  on  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  trail  before  her. 

When  she  returned,  the  man  at  his  post  had 
fallen.  Poor  Limber  Tim !  He  would  not  leave 
his  station,  and  Sandy  had  something  else  to 
think  of  now ;  and  so  he  fell  on  the  field. 


172      FIRST  FAM'LEES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

It  was  not  that  he  had  drunk  so  much,  but 
that  that  he  had  eaten  so  little.  His  last  recol 
lections  of  that  day  were  a  long  and  protracted 
and  fruitless  wrestle  with  the  phial  of  wrath  in 
his  boot-leg,  and  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  screw 
the  picket  fence  on  to  his  back. 

It  was  no  new  thing  to  find  a  man  spilt  out 
in  the  trail  in  these  days,  and  his  fall  excited  no 
remark. 

They  would  carry  men  in  out  of  the  night 
and  away  from  the  wolves,  or  else  would  sit 
down  and  camp  by  them  till  they  were  able  to 
care  for  themselves. 

A  man  took  a  leg  under  each  arm,  another 
man  took  hold  of  his  shoulders,  and  Limber 
Tim,  now  the  limpest  thing  dead  or  alive  was 
borne  to  his  cabin. 

One  —  two  —  three  days.  The  camp,  that  at 
first  was  excited  almost  beyond  bounds,  had 
gone  back  to  its  work,  and  only  now  and  then 
sent  up  a  man  from  the  mines  below,  or  sent 
down  a  man  from  the  mines  above,  to  inquire 
if  there  was  yet  any  news  from  the  Widow. 
But  not  a  word  was  to  be  heard. 

All  these  days  the  two  women  went  and 
came  right  through  the  thick  of  the  men,  but 
no  man  there  was  found  rude  enough  to  ask  a 
question. 

Never  had  the  camp  been  so  sober.     Never 


HOW   DID   IT   HAPPEN?  173 

had  the  Forks  been  so  thoughtful.  The  cinna 
mon-headed  bar-keeper  leaned  over  his  bar  and 
said  confidentially  to  the  man  at  the  table  behind 
the  silver  faro-box,  who  had  just  awakened  from 
a  long  nap 

"  Ef  this  'ere  thing  keps  up,  I  busts."  Then 
the  red-haired  man  drew  a  cork  and  went  on  a 
protracted  spree  all  by  himself. 

"  Send  for  a  gospel  sharp*  all  to  once,  Jake. 
Let 's  go  the  whole  hog.  The  Forks  only  wants 
to  get  religion  now,  and  die." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  FLAG   OF    TRUCE. 

HOW  beautiful  was  all  this  profound  vene 
ration  for  woman  in  this  wild  Eden ! 
How  high  and  holy  the  influence  of  this  one 
woman  over  these  half-grizzlies,  these  hairy- 
faced  men  who  had  drunk  water  from  the  same 
spring  with  the  wild  beasts  of  the  Sierras. 

Now  they  would  not  drink,  would  hardly 
shout  or  speak  sharp,  while  she  lay  ill.  What 
ever  was  the  matter,  or  the  misfortune,  they 
had  too  much  respect  for  her,  for  themselves,  to 
carouse  till  she  should  again  show  her  face,  or 
at  least  while  her  life  was  uncertain. 

The  fourth  day  came  down  into  the  canon, 
and  sat  down  there  as  a  sort  of  pioneer  Summer. 
Birds  flew  over  the  camp  from  one  mountain 
side  to  the  other,  and  sang  as  they  flew.  Men 
whistled  old  tunes  in  a  dreamy  sort  of  a  way  as 
they  came  up  from  their  work  that  day,  and 
recalled  other  days,  and  were  boys  once  more 
in  imagination,  away  in  the  world  that  lay 
beyond  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
174 


A   FLAG   OF  TEUCE.  175 

"  There  is  something  in  this  glorious  climate 
of  Californy,  say  what  you  will,"  mused  the 
Judge,  as  he  lit  his  pipe  and  sat  down  on  a 
stump  in  the  street. 

Limber  Tim  and  the  cinnamon-haired  man 
had  settled  down  into  that  collapse  which  always 
follows  a  protracted  spree  or  a  heavy  carouse, 
and  they  too  sat  on  their  respective  stumps  out 
in  the  open  air,  while  the  saloon  was  left  all  to 
the  little  brown  mice  upstairs. 

Men  were  lounging  all  up  and  down  the 
street  on  old  knotty  logs  that  no  ax  could  re 
duce  to  firewood,  or  leaning  against  the  cabins 
on  the  warm  sides  that  were  still  warm  with  the 
sunshine  gone  away,  or  loafing  up  and  down 
with  their  pipes  in  their  mouths,  and  their  rag 
ged  coats  thrown  over  one  shoulder,  like  the 
bravos  of  Italy.  Certainly  there  was  something 
in  the  glorious  climate  of  California. 

There  had  been  no  news  from  the  Widow  all 
this  time. 

A  keen-eyed  man  just  now  lifted  his  eyes  in 
the  direction  of  the  cabin.  In  fact,  it  was  a 
custom  —  an  instinct,  to  lift  the  face  in  that 
direction  many  times  a  day.  If  any  of  these 
men  ever  prayed  in  that  camp,  and  the  truth 
could  be  told,  you  would  find  that  that  man  first 
turned  the  face  and  kneeled  looking  in  that  direc 
tion.  Her  house  was  a  sort  of  second  Mecca. 

8* 


176     FIRST  FAMILIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

The  camp,  however,  after  being  a  long  time 
patient  and  silent,  had  got  a  little  cross.  Yet 
it  had  not  lost  a  bit  of  its  blunt  and  honest 
manhood.  It  had  simply  made  up  its  mind  that 
the  Widow  and  Sandy  were  both  of  age,  and 
able  to  take  care  of  themselves.  If  they  were 
willing  to  get  the  toothache,  or  something  of 
the  kind,  and  then  retreat  into  their  cabin,  and 
pull  the  latch-string  inside  after  them,  they 
could  do  so,  and  the  camp  would  not  interfere. 

The  man  who  had  been  looking  up  the  hill 
now  turned  to  his  partner,  drew  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth,  wrinkled  up  his  brows,  and  then 
slowly  reached  out  his  arm  and  with  his  pipe- 
stem  pointed  inquiringly  up  the  hill. 

A  man  and  a  woman  were  coming  slowly  and 
cautiously  down  the  way  from  the  Widow's 
cabin.  They  were  coming  straight  for  the  great 
center  of  the  Forks,  the  Howling  Wilderness. 

The  woman  had  something  in  her  arms.  She 
walked  as  carefully  as  if  she  had  been  bearing 
a  waiter  of  wine.  Could  this  be  the  Widow  ? 
It  could  hardly  be  Bunker  Hill,  thought  the 
Forks,  as  it  rose  up  from  its  seat  on  the  stumps, 
and  lifted  its  face  up  the  trail,  for  she  is  almost 
as  tall  and  comely  and  steps  as  nimbly  as  any 
woman  in  camp. 

Could  this  be  Sandy  ?  He  looked  larger  than 
ever  before  —  a  sort  of  Gog  or  Magog. 


A  FLAG  OF  TRUCE.  177 

The  man  stuck  his  pipe  between  his  teeth 
again  and  puffed  furiously  for  a  minute,  and 
then  sat  down  over  the  log  again,  let  his  feet 
dangle  in  the  air,  and,  leaning  forward,  rocked 
to  and  fro  as  if  nursing  his  stomach,  and  seemed 
wrapped  in  thought. 

"  Sandy,  by  the  great  Caesar !  " 
"  Bunker  Hill,  by  the  holy  poker  !  " 
"  And  what 's  that  she  got  a  carryin'  ?  " 
"  It 's  a  table-cloth  a  hangin'  out  for  dinner ! " 
"  It 's  a  flag  of  truce !  "   cried  the   Judge, 
standing  on  tip-toe  on  his  stump  and  straight 
ening  his  fat  little  body  up  towards  the  Sierras. 
"And  hasn't  Sandy  grow'd  since  we  seed 
'im,  eh  !  " 

"  And  don't  he  step  high  !  Jerusalem,  do  n't 
he  step  high  !  " 

"  And  where  's  Captain  Tommy,  and  where  's 
the  Widow?"  anxiously  inquired  the  Forks, 
still  looking  up  the  hill  towards  its  little 
shrine. 

At  last  they  entered  the  town,  and  the  town 
met  them  on  the  edge — at  its  outer  gate,  as  it 
were,  with  all  its  force. 

The  woman  indeed  bore  a  flag  of  truce.  A 
long  white  banner  streamed  from  her  arms  and 
fell  down  to  her  feet,  and  almost  touched  the 
ground.  A  close  observer  would  have  seen  that 
this  flag  was  made  of  the  very  same  coarse  ma- 


178      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

terial  from  which  the  Widow  had  made  the  cur 
tains  of  her  little  bed. 

They  entered  the  edge  of  the  town,  these 
three,  and  the  town  stood  there  as  silent  as  if 
it  had  risen  up  on  its  way  to  church  on  a  Sun 
day  morning.  These  three,  do  you  mind,  stood 
there  still,  right  in  the  track  of  the  town,  and 
the  town  looking  at  them  as  if  they  had  come 
from  another  world.  And  so  at  least  they  had, 
a  part  of  them. 

These  three:  Sandy,  Bunker  Hill,  and  the 
first  baby  born  in  the  mines  of  the  Sierras. 

Bunker  Hill  held  the  baby  out  in  one  hand, 
and  with  the  other  tenderly  lifted  back  the  cov 
ering,  while  Sandy  stood  by  like  a  tower  on  a 
hill,  smiling,  pushing  back  his  hat,  pulling 
down  his  whiskers,  looking  over  the  little  army 
of  men  with  a  splendid  sort  of  sympathy  and 
self-accusation  combined.  He  seemed  to  be 
saying,  as  he  turned  their  eyes  to  the  little  red 
half  opened  rose-bud,  "  Just  look  there  I  see 
what  I  've  done."  His  great  face  was  radiant 
with  delight. 

And  then  there  was  a  shout — such  a  shout ! 
The  spotted  clouds  that  blew  about  the  tall 
pine  tops,  indolent  and  away  up  on  the  moun 
tain's  brow,  seemed  to  be  set  in  motion  again  ; 
the  coyote  rose  up  from  his  sleep  on  the  moun 
tain  side  and  called  out  to  his  companions  across 


A  FLAG   OF   TRUCE.  179 

the  gorge  as  if  he  had  been  frightened ;  while 
Captain  Tommy,  who  had  been  left  with  the 
Widow,  came  to  the  door  and  stood  there,  list 
ening  and  looking  down  into  the  camp  to  see 
what  in  the  world  had  happened.  She  saw 
men's  hats  go  up  in  the  air,  and  then  again  the 
shouts  shook  the  town. 

"  Three  cheers  for  Sandy ! "  They  were 
given  with  a  tiger.  "  Three  cheers  for  the 
Widow  !  three  cheers  for  Missus  Bunker  Hill." 
And  then  the  poor  girl  leaning  out  of  the  door, 
took  up  her  apron  and  wiped  tears  of  joy  from 
her  eyes,  for  "three  times  three"  were  given 
for  Captain  Tommy.  Then  she  went  back  into 
the  house,  back  to  the  bed-room  with  the  curi 
ous  little  curtains  and  gunny-bag  carpets,  and 
told  the  Widow,  and  the  two  women  wept  in 
each  other's  arms  together. 

Men  slapped  each  other  on  the  back,  bantered 
each  other,  and  talked  loud  of  old  Missouri  and 
the  institution  of  marriage. 

Of  all  things  perhaps  this  baby  was  the  last 
they  had  looked  for  or  thought  of.  In  a  camp 
of  thousands,  where  the  youngest  baby  there, 
save  the  boy  poet,  had  a  beard  on  his  face,  the 
men  had  forgotten  to  think  of  children.  It  is 
quite  likely  they  fancied  that  children  would 
not  grow  in  the  Sierras  at  all. 

The  Judge  was  the  first  to  come  forward  as 


180     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

was  his  custom.  He  looked  it  in  the  face,  began 
to  make  a  speech,  but  only  could  say,  "It's 
this  glorious  climate  of  Californy."  And  then 
he  blushed  to  the  tip.  of  his  nose,  backed  out, 
and  others  came  in  turn  to  see  the  wonderful 
little  creature  that  had  come  all  alone,  farther 
than  across  the  plains,  farther  than  any  of  them, 
farther  than  the  farthest  of  the  States,  even 
from  the  other  world,  to  settle  in  the  Sierras. 

"  Well  ef  that  ain  't  the  littlest ! " 

"  Is  that  all  the  big  they  is  ?  " 

"Well!  don't  think  Sandy  hardly  got  his 
first  planting,  did  he,  Pike  ?  " 

"  Well,  that  bangs  me  all  hollow  !  " 

"  Dang  my  cats  if  it 's  bigger  nor  my 
thumb!" 

"  Devil  of  a  little  thing  to  make  such  a  big 
row  about,  eh  ?  " 

Sandy  was  all  submission  arid  pride  and 
tenderness,  and  received  the  congratulations 
and  heard  the  good  -  humored  speeches  of  the 
good-humored  men  as  if  they  were  all  meant  in 
compliment  to  him. 

How  radiant  and  even  half  beautiful  was  the 
plain  face  of  poor  Miss  Bunker  Hill  as  she 
lifted  it  up  before  the  camp  now,  conscious  that 
she  had  done  a  good  thing  and  had  a  right  to 
look  the  world  in  the  face,  and  receive  its  kind 
ness  and  encouragement. 


A  FLAG  OF  TRUCE.  181 

Older  men  and  more  thoughtful  came  up  at 
last,  to  look  upon  the  little  wonder  and  to  read 
the  story  of  this  new  volume  fresh  from  the 
press.  They  looked  long  and  silently.  They 
were  as  gentle  as  lambs.  Death  had  no  terror 
to  them,  it  was  not  half  so  solemn,  so  myste 
rious,  as  this  birth  in  the  heart  of  the  Sierras. 
Life  was  there,  then,  as  well  as  death.  People 
would  come  and  go  there  as  elsewhere.  The 
hand  of  God  had  stretched  over  the  mountain, 
down  into  the  awful  gorge,  and  set  down  a  little 
angel  at  their  cabin  doors.  It  was  very,  very 
welcome,  and  the  old  men  bobbed  their  heads 
with  delight. 

At  last  all  was  still,  and  the  little  Judge  felt 
that  this  was  not  an  occasion  to  be  lost.  In 
fact,  had  there  been  a  clergyman  there  to  say  a 
word,  it  had  had  more  good  effect  than  all  the 
funeral  sermons  that  the  little  red -faced  man 
had  pronounced  in  the  camp.  The  occasion 
was  a  singular  one,  and  the  men's  hearts  were 
now  as  mellow  as  new  -  plowed  land  that  had 
long  lain  fallow  and  waiting  for  the  seed. 

"  This,  my  friends,"  began  the  little  man, 
standing  upon  a  stump,  and  extending  his  hands 
towards  the  baby,  "  this,  my  friends,  shows  us 
that  the  wonderful  climate  of  Californy — " 
Just  then  some  one  poked  the  fat  little  fellow 
in  the  stomach  with  his  pipe  -  stem,  and  he 


182     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERKAS. 

doubled  up  like  a  jack-knife  and  quietly  got 
down,  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

There  was  a  lull  then,  and  things  began  to 
look  embarrassing.  Sandy  was  now  of  course 
too  proud,  too  happy,  too  much  of  a  man  to 
carouse,  but  he  called  the  cinnamon-headed  man 
to  his  side  by  a  crook  of  his  ringer,  and  making 
the  sign  so  well  known  in  the  Sierras,  and  so 
well  understood  by  all  who  are  thirsty,  the 
parties  divided  —  the  camp  to  carouse  to  the 
little  stranger  in  the  Howling  Wilderness,  and 
Sandy  to  return  to  his  "  fam'ly." 

"  Here's  to — to — to — here's  to  it !  Here's  to 
the  Little  Half-a-pint!  "  The  men  were  stand 
ing  in  a  row,  their  glasses  high  up,  and  dipping 
in  every  angle  and  to  every  point  of  the  com 
pass,  but  they  did  not  know  the  baby's  name ; 
they  did  not  even  know  its  sex.  And  so  in 
that  moment,  without  stopping  to  think,  and 
without  any  time  to  spare,  they  spoke  of  it  as 
"  it,"  and  they  named  it  Little  Half-a-pint. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  QUESTION  NONE  COULD   ANSWEE. 

HOW  the  Widow's  heart  had  been  beating 
all  this  time  !  How  she  waited,  and 
waited,  and  listened,  and  how  often  she  sent 
Captain  Tommy  to  the  door  to  tell  her,  if  possi 
ble,  how  her  baby  fared  among  the  half-wild 
men  of  the  camp. 

How  glad  she  was  when  she  saw  Sandy  enter, 
all  flurry  and  delight,  as  if  he  had  been  the 
central  figure  in  some  great  triumph.  Then  a 
bit  of  the  old  sadness  and  cast  of  care  swept 
over  her  face,  and  she  nestled  down  in  the  pillow 
and  put  up  her  two  hands  to  hide  a  moment 
from  the  light. 

The  other  two  were  too  busy  with  the  little 
Half-a-pint  to  notice  her  trouble  then.  They 
laid  it  down  in  a  cradle  that  had  been  made  for 
rocking  and  washing  gold,  and  good  little 
Bunker  Hill  sat  by  it,  and  crossed  her  legs  and 
took  up  her  work,  and  went  on  sewing  and 
singing  to  herself,  and  swinging  her  leg  that 
hung  over,  and  rocking  the  cradle  with  her 

183 


184     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

foot  in  the  old  fashioned  way  when  babies  were 
born  in  the  leaves  of  the  woods  of  the  Wabash, 
and  mothers  sat  singing  by  the  camp-fires, 
knitting  and  rocking  their  babies  in  their  sugar- 
troughs. 

Down  in  the  Howling  Wilderness  I  am  bound 
to  say  the  carousing  began  early,  and  with  a 
vigor  that  promised  more  headaches  than  the 
camp  had  known  since  the  Widow  first  set  foot 
in  the  Forks. 

Little  Half-a-pint  was  toasted  and  talked  of 
in  every  corner  of  the  house.  Was  it  a  girl  or 
was  it  a  boy  ?  Why  had  they  not  asked  so 
simple  and  so  civil  a  question  ?  They  called 
for  Limber  Tim  —  they  would  appeal  to  him. 
But  Limber  Tim  was  not  to  be  found  in  all  the 
manifold  depths  of  the  Howling  Wilderness. 
He  had  had  his  carouse,  and  was  now  playing 
sober  Indian.  In  fact,  he  was  hanging  very 
close  about  the  little  rocking  cradle  up  in  the 
front  room  of  the  Widow's  cabin.  Never  was 
the  cradle  allowed  to  rest,  but  rock,  rock,  till 
the  Widow  and  Sandy  too  were  both  made  very 
sensible,  sleeping  or  waking,  that  little  Half-a- 
pint,  small  as  it  was,  was  filling  up  the  biggest 
half  of  the  house. 

Nearly  midnight  it  was  when  Limber  Tim, 
leaning  over  the  cradle  and  looking,  or  pretend 
ing  to  look,  at  the  baby,  said  to  Bunker  Hill, 


THE  QUESTION  NONE  COULD  ANSWER.    185 

who   bent   down   over  it   on   the   other   side, 
"  Pretty,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Guess  it  is.  Looks  just  like  its  father  for 
the  world."  And  little  hump-backed  Bunker 
Hill  began  to  make  faces,  and  to  shake  her  head 
and  nod  it  up  and  down,  and  coo  and  crow  to 
little  Half-a-pint  as  if  it  was  really  able  to 
hear,  and  understand,  and  answer  all  she  said 
to  it. 

Down  at  the  saloon  all  this  time  the  spirits 
flowed  like  water.  The  cinnamon-haired  fellow 
had  fallen  upon  a  harvest,  and  was  making  the 
most  of  it.  He  had  laid  off  his  coat,  run  his 
two  hands  up  through  his  hair  till  it  stood  up 
like  forked  flames,  and  was  thumping  the  glasses 
as  if  in  feats  of  legerdemain.  How  he  did  score 
with  the  charcoal  on  the  hewn  logs  behind.  He 
marked  and  scored  that  night  till  the  wall 
behind  him  looked  as  if  it  might  be  the  Iliad 
written  in  Greek,  or  all  the  characters  on  the 
obelisk  of  Saint  Peter's. 

Yet  with  all  this  happiness  on  the  hill,  and 
this  merry-making  under  the  hill,  in  the  heart 
of  the  Sierras,  in  commemoration  and  celebra 
tion  of  the  beginning  of  a  new  race  in  a  new 
land,  there  was  one  man  back  in  the  corner  of 
the  saloon  who  looked  on  with  something  of  a 
sneer  on  his  hard,  hatchet  face,  and  who  refused 
to  take  any  part.  Now  and  then  this  man 


186     FIKST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

would  lift  up  his  left  hand,  hold  out  his  fingers 
and  count,  one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  to  himself 
with  his  other  hand,  and  then  shake  his  head. 

The  men  began  to  look  at  him  and  wonder 
what  he  meant.  Then  this  man  would  count 
again  —  one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven. 
Then,  when  the  men  would  waddle  by  in  their 
great  gum-boots  and  look  back  at  him  over  their 
beards,  he  would  look  them  square  in  the  face 
and  wink,  and  screw  and  shrug  his  shoulders. 

This  man  stopped  there  in  the  middle  of  the 
spree,  and  pursing  his  brow,  and  holding  up  his 
fingers  once  more,  and  looking  as  profound  as  if 
wrestling  with  a  problem  in  Euclid,  said  to  him 
self :  "  Hosses  is  ten,  cows  is  six,  cats  is  three  ; 
but  human  bein's  ?  Blowed  if  I  know."  And 
he  shook  his  head. 

At  last  this  hard,  hatchet-faced  looking  man, 
standing  back  alone  in  the  corner,  seemed  to 
have  got  it  all  counted  up  to  his  own  satisfac 
tion.  He  counted,  however,  again;  then  he 
said,  as  if  to  himself,  "  Seven  months  at  the 
very  outside,"  and  slapped  his  hands  together 
with  great  glee,  and  sucked  his  thin  brown 
lips  as  if  he  had  just  tasted  something  very 
delicious. 

Then  this  hatchet-faced  fellow,  still  rubbing 
his  hands  and  still  twirling  his  lip,  and  all  the 
time  grinning  with  a  grin  that  was  sweet  and 


THE  QUESTION  NONE  COULD  ANSWER.    187 

devilish,  turned  to  the  first  man  at  his  side,  and 
whispered  in  his  ear. 

This  man  started  and  spun  around  when  the 
hard-faced  man  had  finished  as  if  he  had  been  a 
top,  and  the  hatchet-faced  fellow  had  struck 
him  with  a  whip. 

The  man  spun  about,  in  fact,  till  the  hard- 
faced  fellow  caught  hold  of  his  eye  with  his  own 
and  held  him  there  till  he  could  catch  his  breath. 
Then  the  man,  after  catching  his  breath,  and 
catching  it  again,  said  slowly,  but  most  em 
phatically  : 

"  Ompossible  !  " 

The  hatchet-faced  man  simply  pecked  in  the 
face  of  the  other.  He  did  not  say  any  thing 
more  to  him,  but  he  pecked  at  him  again,  and 
he  pecked  emphatically,  too,  and  in  a  way  that 
would  not  admit  of  any  two  opinions  ;  as  if  the 
man  were  a  grain  of  corn,  and  he  had  half  a 
mind  to  pick  him  up  and  swallow  him  down  for 
daring  to  hint  that  it  was  impossible. 

Then  the  man  went  off  suddenly  to  one  side, 
and  he  too  fell  to  counting  on  his  fingers,  and 
to  taking  a  whole  knot  of  men  into  his  confi 
dence. 

Then  the  hatchet-faced  fellow  went  up  to  an 
other  man  and  whispered  in  his  ear,  with  his 
smirk  and  his  sweet  devilish  smile,  and  he  soon 
set  him  to  spinning  round  like  a  top,  and  to 


188      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

lifting  up  his  fingers  and  counting  one,  two, 
three,  four,  five. 

Then  all  around  the  saloon  men  began  to  get 
sober  and  to  hold  up  their  hands  and  to  count 
their  fingers. 

At  last  the  little  fat  red-faced  Judge  was 
heard  to  say  — 

"  They  was  married  in  the  Fall." 
"About  —  about  —  about — eh,  about  what 
month,  do  you  remember,  eh  ?  "  squeaked  out 
the  hatchet-faced  interrogation  point  through 
the  nose,  as  he  planted  himself  before  the  little 
Judge. 

"  About  the  last  cleaning  up,"  said  the  Judge 
cheerfully. 

"  That  was  about  —  about — "  and  the  hatchet- 
faced  man  with  the  nasal  twang  and  sharp  nose 
began  again  to  count  on  his  fingers  —  "  about 
four,  five,  six,  seven  months  ago  ?  " 

'  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  good-natured,  unsuspi 
cious,  important  little  Judge,  "  about  six,  seven 
months  ago,  I  reckon."  And  then  he,  smiling 
innocently,  fell  in  between  two  great  bearded 
giants,  as  a  sort  of  ham-sandwich  filling,  to  take 
a  drink  at  the  bar. 

"  Ompossible ! "    said   the   first   top    to    the 
hatchet-face. 
"  Ask  him." 
The  hatchet-face   and  sharp-nose  looked  to- 


THE   QUESTION  NONE  COULD  ANSWER.    189 

wards  the  little  fat  Judge  wedged  in  between 
the  giants.  The  top  spun  up  to  the  little  Judge, 
wedged  his  head  in  between  the  giants'  shoul 
ders,  and  asked  a  question. 

The  Judge  shook  his  head,  and  then  wiping 
his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  said  half 
sadly,  "  No,  I  am  not.  No,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  I 
am  not.  That  is  a  happiness  still  in  store.  No, 
I  am  not  a  family  man.  Never  was  married  in 
my  life ;  but  whatever  may  transpire  in  this 
glorious  climate  of  Calif orny — " 

The  top  had  its  answer,  and  spun  back  to  its 
place  without  waiting  for  the  last  of  the  speech. 

The  two  men  talked  together  again.  Then 
they  appealed  to  an  old  man  who  sat  mute  and 
sullen  back  on  the  bench  by  the  bulldog. 

"  No,  he  did  n't  know  about  such  things ; 
didn't  care  a  cuss  anyhow."  Arid  the  two 
men  went  away  as  if  a  flea  or  two  had  left  the 
dog  and  hopped  into  their  ears.  They  went  to 
another  man.  "  Don't  see  the  point,  blowed  ef 
I  do.  Six  months,  seven  months,  eight  months, 
ten  months,  all  along  there,  I  'spose.  The  great 
Washington,  Caesar,  Horace  Greeley,  all  sich  big- 
bugs,  it  might  take  one,  two,  three  years.  That 
little  cuss  to-day  only  a  month  or  two,  I  reckon. 
It's  all  right,  I  reckon.  It  ain't  my  funeral, 
any  how.  And  what  the  devil  you  come  bother- 
iu'  of  me  for,  anyhow?  Ef  yer  don't  want  to 


190      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

drink  yerself,  let  a  fellow  alone  what  does !  " 
And  he  shook  them  off  with  a  gesture  of  the 
hand  and  a  jerk  of  the  head  that  meant  a  great 
deal  more  than  he  had  said. 

There  were  not  so  many  fingers  up  now  as 
before.  The  question  evidently  had  been  set 
tled  in  the  minds  of  the  men  fully  in  favor  of 
the  little  Half-a-pint.  Few  understood  these 
things  at  all,  fewer  still  cared  to  go  into  par 
ticulars  at  this  time,  and  the  question  would 
keep  till  they  had  more  leisure  and  less  whisky. 

Finally,  the  hatchet-faced  man  went  round 
and  sat  down  opposite  the  man  who  sat  behind 
the  little  silver  faro-box  by  the  pine-table,  and 
began  to  whisper  in  his  ear.  The  good-natured 
genius,  half  -  gambler,  half  -  miner,  who  had 
played  the  little  prank  with  the  salmon  and 
gold-dust,  had  had  a  dull  night  of  it,  and  most 
like  even  for  that  reason  was  a  little  out  of 
humor.  At  all  events  he  did  not  answer  at 
once,  but  set  down  his  little  silver  box,  and, 
taking  up  his  cards,  began  to  spin  them  one  by 
one  over  the  heads  of  the  men,  or  through  the 
crowd  as  it  opened,  back  at  the  old  bull-dog 
that  lay  on  the  bunk  on  the  bags  of  gold  under 
the  blankets,  and  half  whistling  to  himself  as  he 
did  so. 

The  hatchet-faced  man,  fearing  the  man  had 
forgotten  his  presence  and  his  revelation,  leaned 


THE   QUESTION   NONE  COULD  ANSWER.    191 

over  again  and  began  to  whisper  and  to  count 
on  his  fingers. 

Then  he  looked  sharp  at  the  gambler  and 
began  again  ;  "  Hits  my  'pinion  that  it's  that 
boy,  Billie  Piper." 

"How  many  months  did  you  say?"  asked 
the  gambler  at  last. 

"  Seven  or  eight  at  the  furthest." 

"  And  how  many  had  it  ought  to  be  ?  " 

"  Twelve  ! "  And  the  smile  that  was  sweet 
and  devilish  played  about  the  thin  blue  lips 
below  the  sharp  and  meddlesome  nose. 

"  And  are  you  a  family  man  ?  " 

"No." 

"  And  you  say  she's  bilked  us  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  You  're  a  darn'd  infernal  liar !  "  The 
gambler  rose  as  he  said  this,  snatched  up  his 
silver  box  and  dashed  it  into  the  teeth  of 
Hatchet-face.  And  he,  coward  as  he  was,  put 
up  his  hands  and  held  them  to  his  mouth  while 
the  blood  ran  down  between  his  fingers. 

"  I  do  n't  keer,  Judge,  I  do  n't  keer,  if  I  broke 
every  tooth  in  his  head.  I  do  n't  'low  no  white- 
livered  son  of  a  gun  to  go  about  a-talking  about 
a  woman  like  that." 

Then  the  gambler,  walking  off,  said  to  those 
around  him  in  a  lower  tone,  "  It  do  n't  take  no 
twelve  months  nohow.  Now  there's  the  yaller 
9 


192     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

cat ;  'bout  four  litters  in  a  year.  Twelve  months 
be  blowed  !  That's  an  old  woman's  story.  Then 
that's  in  Missoury,  anyhow,  and  what's  the 
climate  of  Missoury  got  to  do  with  Californy, 
I'd  like  to  know  ?  No,  gentlemen  ;  some  apples 
gits  ripe  soon,  and  some  do  n't  git  ripe  till  frost 
comes.  Them's  things,  gentlemen,  as  we  do  n't 
know  nothing  about.  Them's  mysteries,  and 
none  of  our  business,  nohow.  Show  me  the 
man,"  and  here  he  began  to  roar  like  aNumidian 
lion,  and  to  tower  up  above  the  crowd,  while 
a  face  like  a  razor  shot  out  through  the  door, 
looking  back  frightened  as  it  fled,  "  Show  me 
the  man  as  says  it's  not  all  right,  and  I'll  shake 
him  out  of  his  boots." 

The  gambler  picked  up  his  battered  box,  but 
he  was  evidently  not  in  a  good  humor.  He 
wiped  it  on  his  coat-sleeve,  and  polished  it  up 
and  down,  but  was  ill  content.  At  last,  look 
ing  out  from  under  his  great  slouch  hat,  he  saw 
the  top  in  the  center  of  a  little  knot  of  men 
holding  up  his  hand  and  counting  his  fingers. 
He  threw  the  box  down  on  the  table  and  rushed 
into  the  knot  of  men. 

"  A  bully  set  you  are,  ain't  you  ?  Gw'yne 
around  a-counting  up  after  a  sick  woman.  And 
what  do  you  know,  anyhow  ?  "  He  took  hold 
of  the  nervous  top,  and  again  set  it  spinning. 
"  That  little  woman,  she  come  as  we  come. 


THE   QUESTION   NONE  COULD  ANSWER.    193 

God  Almighty  did  n't  set  no  mark  and  gauge  on 
you,  and  you  shan't  go  'round  and  count  up 
after  her.  Do  you  hear  ?  Now  you  git.  You  're 
wanted.  Hatchet-face  wants  yer.  Do  you 
hear?" 

The  man  spun  his  top  about  till  its  face  was 
to  the  door,  and  it  went  out  as  a  sort  of  handle 
to  the  hatchet,  and  was  seen  no  more  that  night. 

Yet  for  all  this  there  had  been  a  great  ripple 
in  the  wave  that  had  to  run  even  to  the  shore 
before  it  could  disappear  from  the  face  of 
things  at  the  Forks. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

DEBATABLE  GROUND. 

THE  next  day  when  Sandy  came  down,  the 
enthusiasm  was  at  a  low  ebb.     He  missed 
the  great  reception  he  had  expected,  and  went 
back  home  that  night  a  troubled  and  anxious 
man. 

What  could  be  the  matter  ?  He  asked  Lim 
ber  Tim,  but  Limber  Tim  had  learned  the  power 
and  security  of  silence,  and  either  could  not  or 
would  not  venture  on  any  revelations.  Besides 
that,  he  was  very  busy  helping  Bunker  Hill 
with  the  baby.  The  camp  openly  and  at  all 
convenient  times  discussed  the  question  now, 
and  it  began  to  gradually  take  shape  in  the 
minds  of  men  that  something  was  really  wrong. 
Kind  old  Sandy  did  not  dream  what  the  trouble 
could  be.  He  feared  he  had  not  been  generous 
enough  under  his  good  fortune,  and  was  all  the 
time  opening  the  mouth  of  his  leather  bag  at 
the  bar  and  pouring  gold  dust  into  the  scales, 
and  entreating  the  boys  to  drink  to  the  health 
of  their  little  Half-a-pint. 

194 


DEBATABLE   GROUND.  195 

"Yes,  our  little  Half-a-pint  it  is,  I  reckons; 
leastwise  it 's  pretty  certain  it  ain't  yourn." 
Sandy  looked  at  the  man,  and  then  the  man  set 
down  his  glass  untouched  and  went  off.  He 
had  not  meant  all  that  he  had  said,  but  having 
blurted  it  out  in  a  very  awkward  way  and  at 
the  very  worst  time,  got  off  and  out  of  it  as  best 
he  could. 

Sandy  was  tortured.  The  dear  little  Widow 
saw  it,  and  asked  him  what  the  trouble  was,  and 
the  man,  blunt,  honest  fellow,  told  all  that  had 
happened. 

The  camp  was  disgusted  with  the  man  who 
had  mooted  this  question.  They  counted  him 
a  traitor  to  the  Forks  —  a  sort  of  Judas.  If  he 
had  gone  and  hung  himself  the  camp  would 
have  been  perfectly  satisfied.  In  fact,  it  is 
pretty  certain  that  the  camp  would  have  been 
very  glad  to  have  had  any  excuse,  even  the 
least  bit  of  an  excuse,  to  do  that  office  for  him. 

Then  the  camp  was  angry  with  Sandy,  too, 
on  general  principles.  He  had  betrayed  them 
into  a  sort  of  idol- worship  under  a  mistake.  He 
had  lured  it  into  the  expression  of  an  enthusi 
asm  quite  out  of  keeping  with  the  dignity  of  a 
rough  and  hardy  race  of  men,  and  it  did  not 
like  it. 

"  The  great  big  idiot ! "  said  the  camp. 
"  Did  n't  he  know  any  better  ?  Do  n't  he  know 


196        FIRST   FAMILIES   OF   THE   SIERRAS. 

any  better  now  than  to  go  on  in  this  way  half- 
tickled  to  death,  thinking  himself  the  happiest 
and  the  most  blest  of  men  ?  "  The  camp  was 
ashamed  of  him. 

The  little  Judge,  finding  things  going  against 
the  first  family  of  the  Forks,  felt  also  that  he  in 
some  way  was  concerned,  and  felt  called  upon 
to  explain.  This  was  hi-s  theory  and  expla 
nation. 

"  The  Widow  was  a  widow  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  The  Legislature  met  at  San  Josd  on  the  first 
day  of  September  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"The  Legislature  granted  that  first  session 
enough  divorces  to  fill  a  book  ?" 

"Well?" 

"  This  young  woman,  this  Widow,  might  'a 
bin  married ;  she  might  'a  bin  on  her  way  to 
the  mountains ;  she  might  'a  stopped  in  there 
and  got  her  divorce,  one  day  on  her  way  up ; 
she  might  'a  come  right  on  here  and  got  coaxed 
into  marrying  Sandy." 

"  Rather  quick  work,  would  n't  it  be,  Judge  ?  " 

"  Well,  considering  the  climate  of  Calif orny, 
I  think  not."  And  the  little  man  pushed  out 
his  legs  under  the  card-table,  puffed  out  his 
little  red  cheeks,  leaned  back,  and  felt  perfectly 
certain  that  he  had  made  a  great  point,  while 


DEBATABLE   GROUND.  197 

the  wise  men  of  the  camp  sat  there  more  con 
fused  than  before. 

However,  as  the  days  went  by  men  went  on 
with  their  work  in  their  mines  down  in  the 
boiling,  foaming,  full  little  streams,  now  over 
flowing  from  the  snows  that  melted  in  the  warm 
Spring  sun,  and  said  but  little  more  on  the  sub 
ject.  It  was  certain  that  they  were  very  doubt 
ful,  for  they  only  shook  their  heads  as  a  rule 
when  the  subject  was  mentioned  now  in  the 
great  center.  That  was  a  bad  sign,  and  very  hard 
evidence  of  displeasure  with  their  patron  saint 
of  the  Autumn  and  the  long  weary  Winter. 

The  Widow  must  have  known  all  this.  Not 
that  Sandy  had  said  a  word  further  than  she 
had  almost  forced  him  to  speak ;  not  that  she 
had  yet  ventured  down  into  the  Forks,  or  that 
Bunker  Hill  had  breathed  a  word  about  it,  but 
I  fancy  that  women  know  these  things  by  in 
stinct.  They  somehow  have  a  singularly  clear 
way  of  coming  upon  such  things. 

Day  after  day  she  read  Sandy's  face  as  he 
came  up  from  his  mine,  dripping  with  the  yel 
low  water  spurted  from  the  sluice  all  over  his 
broad  slouch  hat,  long  brown  beard,  and  stiff 
duck  breeches  ;  she  read  it  eagerly  as  one  reads 
the  papers  after  a  battle,  and  read  it  truly  as  if 
it  had  been  a  broadsheet  in  print,  and  found 
herself  in  disfavor  with  the  camp. 


198     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

Then  she  began  to  think  if  Sandy  was  think 
ing  of  his  promise  ;  if  he  had  remembered,  and 
still  remembered  the  time  when  in  her  great 
agony  he  promised,  though  all  the  world  turned 
against  her  and  cried  "  shame  ! "  he  would  not 
upbraid  her. 

She  wondered  if  he  ever  wished  he  had  gone 
when  she  commanded  him  and  implored  him  to 
go,  and  she  began  to  read  his  face  for  the  truth. 
She  read,  read  him  all  through,  page  after  page, 
chapter  after  chapter.  She  found  there  was  not 
a  doubt  in  all  the  realm  of  his  soul,  and  her 
face  took  on  again  a  little  of  its  gladness.  Yet 
the  touch  of  tenderness  deepened,  the  old  sad 
ness  had  settled  back  again,  and  this  time  to 
remain. 

The  still  blue  skies  of  California  were  bend 
ing  over  the  camp.  Not  a  cloud  sailed  east  or 
west,  or  hovered  about  the  snow-peaks.  It  was 
full  Summer-time  in  the  Sierras  before  it  was 
yet  mid-Spring,  and  men  began  to  pour  over  the 
mountains  across  the  settled  and  solid  banks  of 
snow.  Birds  flew  low  and  idly  about  the  cabins, 
and  sang  as  the  men  went  on  with  their  work 
down  in  the  foaming,  muddy  little  rivers,  and 
all  the  world  seemed  glad  and  strong  with  life 
and  hope. 

Still  the  Widow  was  glad  no  more,  and  men 
began  to  notice  that  Sandy  did  not  come  to 


DEBATABLE   GROUND.  199 

town  at  all.  It  was  even  observed  that  he  had 
found  a  cut-off  across  the  spur  of  the  hill,  by 
which  he  went  and  came  to  and  from  his  mining 
claim  without  once  setting  foot  in  the  Howling 
Wilderness,  or  even  the  Forks. 

Limber  Tim,  too,  seemed  sad  and  sorely 
troubled.  Sunshine  and  singing  birds  do  not 
always  bring  delight  to  all.  There  is  nothing 
so  sad  as  sadness  at  such  a  time. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ANOTHER  WEDDING  AT  THE  FORKS. 

LIMBER  Tim  no  longer  wrestled  with  sap 
lings  or  picket-fences,  or  even  his  limber 
legs.  He  had  other  and  graver  matters  on 
hand.  The  birds  were  building  their  nests  all 
about  him,  and  he  too  wanted  to  gather  moss. 
*  At  last  the  boy-man  was  happy.  At  least, 
he  came  one  night  very  late  to  "  Sandy's,"  as 
the  Widow's  home  was  now  called,  and  stand 
ing  outside  of  the  house  and  backing  up  against 
the  fence,  and  sticking  his  hands  in  behind  him, 
and  twisting  his  left  leg  around  the  right,  he 
called  out  to  Sandy  in  a  voice  that  was  wild 
and  uncertain  as  a  wind  that  is  lost  in  the  trees. 
Sandy  laid  it  down  tenderly,  covered  it  up, 
and  watching  it  a  minute  and  making  sure  that 
it  was  sound  asleep  and  well,  went  out.  Lim 
ber  Tim  was  writhing  and  twisting  more  than 
ever  before.  Sandy  was  glad,  for  he  now  knew 
that  he  was  perfectly  well,  and  that  he  had  got 
the  great  matter  settled,  and  that  in  a  way  per 
fectly  satisfactory  to  himself. 

200 


ANOTHER   WEDDING   AT   THE   FOBKS.     201 

And  yet  the  two  men  were  terribly  embar 
rassed.  What  made  the  embarrassment  very 
much  the  worse  was  the  fact  that  they  were  at 
least  half-a-mile  from  the  nearest  saloon.  For 
tunately  it  was  very  dark  for  a  Californian  night, 
and  the  men  could  look  each  other  in  the  face 
without  seeing  each  other. 

There  was  a  long  and  painful  silence.  Lim 
ber  Tim  wrestled  with  his  right  leg  with  all  his 
might,  and  would  have  thrown  it  time  and  again, 
but  from  the  fact  that  his  two  arms  were  thrust 
in  behind  and  wound  through  the  palings,  so 
that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  fall. 

His  mouth  was  open  and  his  tongue  was  out, 
but  he  could  not  talk.  At  last  Sandy  broke 
the  prolonged  and  profound  silence. 

"Win  her,  Limber?  " 

"  Won  her,  Sandy." 

"  Bully  for  Limber  Tim  !  " 

Then  there  was  another  painful  silence,  and 
Limber  Tim  twisted  a  paling  off  the  fence  with 
his  arms,  and  kicked  half  the  bark  off  his  right 
shin  with  his  left  boot-heel. 

"  Sandy  ?  " 

"  Limber." 

Then  Limber  Tim  reached  out  his  tongue  and 
spun  it  about  as  if  it  had  been  a  fish-line,  and 
he  was  fishing  in  the  darkness  for  words.  At 
last  he  jerked  back  as  if  he  had  got  a  bite,  jerked 


202     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

and  jerked  as  if  his  throat  was  full  of  fish-hooks, 
and  jerked  till  he  jerked  himself  loose  from  the 
fence ;  and  poising  on  his  heel  before  falling 
back  into  the  darkness,  and  twisting  himself 
down  the  hill,  said  this  : 

"  Git  the  Judge,  Sandy.  Fetch  her  home 
to-morrow.  Spliced  to-morrow.  Sandy,  git 
the  Judge  to-morrow  !  " 

And  "to-morrow  "  kept  coming  up  the  hill 
and  out  of  the  darkness  till  the  nervous  man 
was  half  way  to  the  Howling  Wilderness. 

The  Judge  was  there,  a  cooler  man  now,  even 
though  it  was  midsummer.  His  shirt  was  open 
till  his  black  hairy  breast  showed  through  as  if 
it  had  been  a  naked  bear-skin. 

The  Forks  came  in  force  to  its  second  wed 
ding,  but  the  Forks,  too,  was  cooler,  and  had 
put  aside  to  some  extent  its  faith  and  its  folly. 
And  yet  it  liked  Bunker  Hill  ever  so  much. 
Bunker  Hill,  said  the  Forks,  had  not  been  the 
best  of  women  in  days  gone  by,  but  Bunker 
Hill  had  never  deceived. 

She  stood  alone  there  that  day,  the  day  of  all 
days  to  any  woman  in  the  world,  and  the  boys 
did  not  like  it  at  all. 

Why  had  she  not  asked  the  Widow  to  be  by 
her  side  ?  Surely  she  had  stood  by  the  Widow 
in  the  day  of  trouble  ;  why  was  not  the  Widow 
there  ?  And  then  they  thought  about  it  a 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


ANOTHER   WEDDING  AT  THE  FOBKS.     203 


little  while,  and  saw  how  impossible  it  was  for 
poor  deformed  little  Bunker  Hill  to  dare  to  ask 
the  Widow  to  come  and  stand  with  her  at  her 
wedding. 

The  woman  who  stood  there,  about  to  be 
made  the  head  of  the  second  family  in  the 
Forks,  had  nursed  the  Widow  back  to  life 
and  health,  had  seen  all  the  time  the  line  that 
lay  between  them,  and  had  not  taken  a  single 
step  to  cross  it.  When  her  task  was  finished 
she  had  gone  back  to  her  home.  She  carried 
with  her  the  memory  and  the  recollection 
of  a  duty  well  performed,  and  felt  that  it 
was  enough.  She  had  not  seen  the  Widow  any 
more. 

The  Judge  stood  there  with  the  Declaration 
of  Independence,  the  Statutes  of  California,  and 
the  marriage  ceremony,  all  under  his  arm,  and 
ready  to  do  his  office.  The  sun  was  pouring 
down  in  the  open  streets.  Little  Bunker  Hill 
felt  hardly,  somehow,  that  she  had  a  right  to  be 
married  out  in  the  open  day,  in  the  fresh,  sweet 
air,  and  under  the  trees  ;  and  Limber  Tim  pre 
ferred  to  be  married  where  his  partner  had  been 
married,  and  so  it  was  that  they  had  met  in  the 
Howling  Wilderness  as  before.  All  was  silence 
now,  all  were  waiting  for  the  Judge  to  begin. 
Up  in  the  loft  the  mice  nibbled  away  at  their 
endless  rations  of  old  boots,  and  a  big  red- 


204     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

headed  woodpecker  pounded  away  on  the  wall 
back  by  the  chimney  without. 

There  was  a  commotion  at  the  door.  Then 
there  was  a  murmur  of  admiration  and  applause. 

The  men  gave  way,  they  pushed  and  pushed 
each  other  back  as  if  they  had  been  pushing 
cotton  bales,  they  opened  a  line,  and  down  that 
line  a  beautiful  woman  with  her  eyes  to  the 
ground  and  a  baby  in  her  arms  moved  on  till 
she  came  and  stood  by  the  side  of  the  little 
hunchback,  still  silent,  and  looking  with  the  old 
look  of  sad,  sweet  tranquility  upon  the  ground. 

It  was  really  too  much  for  the  little  man, 
who  had  opened  his  bosom,  and  who  all  the 
time  had  stood  there  with  his  books  under  his 
arm,  perfectly  cool,  and  perfect  master  of  the 
situation.  Now  he  was  all  of  a  heap.  He 
had  been  acting  with  a  sort  of  condescension 
toward  the  two  half-children  who  had  come 
before  him  that  day,  and  had  even  prepared  a 
sort  of  patronizing,  half-missionary,  half-reform 
atory  sermon,  but  now,  and  all  suddenly,  he 
was  utterly  overthrown.  He  began  to  perspire 
and  choke  on  the  spot. 

The  silence  was  painful.  The  woodpecker 
pounded  as  if  he  would  knock  the  house  down, 
and  the  mice  rasped  at  their  old  boots  and 
rattled  away  like  men  sawing  wood. 

The  Judge  began  to  hear  himself  breathe. 


ANOTHER   WEDDING  AT   THE   FOKKS.     205 

In  this  moment  of  crisis  he  caught  a  book  from 
his  side  and  proceeded  to  read.  He  read  from 
"  An  Act  to  amend  an  Act  entitled  an  Act  for 
the  improvement  of  the  breed  of  sheep  in  the 
State  of  California."  Back  in  the  saloon  there 
were  men  who  began  to  giggle.  These  were 
some  men  not  from  Missouri.  They  were  of 
the  hatchet-faced  order,  men  who  spoke  through 
their  noses,  "  idecated  men,"  the  camp  called 
them,  and  men  that,  above  all  others,  had  put 
the  little  Judge  in  terror. 

When  he  heard  the  men  laugh,  then  he  knew 
he  had  opened  his  book  at  the  wrong  place,  and 
his  face  grew  red  as  fire.  He  could  not  see  to 
read  to  the  end,  nor  could  he  now  be  heard. 
He  suddenly  closed  the  book  and  said,  "  Then 
by  virtue  of  the  authority  in  me  vested,  and 
under  the  laws  of  the  State  of  California  in 
such  cases  made  and  provided,  I  pronounce  you 
man  and  wife." 

Then  the  little  Judge  came  up,  shook  them 
both  by  the  hand,  and  his  voice  was  suddenly 
clear  as  a  bell,  and  he  felt  that  he  could  now 
go  on  and  speak  by  the  hour. 

The  Widow  bowed  down  above  her  baby 
and  kissed  the  new-made  bride  silently  and 
tenderly  as  if  she  had  been  her  sister,  and  then 
with  the  same  sweet,  half  sad  smile  she  turned 
to  the  door,  her  face  still  to  the  ground,  and 


206     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

covering  up  the  little  sleeper  in  her  arms  and 
looking  neither  right  nor  left,  went  back  alone 
to  her  cabin. 

The  dark  day  was  over.  At  the  play,  when 
ever  you  see  the  whole  force  of  the  company 
come  forward  and  stand  in  a  row,  and  assume 
the  most  striking  and  imposing  attitudes,  and 
hear  the  fiddlers  play  and  the  brass  trumpets 
bray  as  never  before,  then  you  may  be  very 
sure  the  tragedy  is  about  over.  So  it  goes  in 
life. 

The  crowd  had  melted  away  a  bit  because  it 
was  very  warm,  and  then  the  men  were  getting 
noisy  enough,  for  this  was  the  day  on  which 
every  true  American  was  expected  to  get  drunk. 
It  was  a  sort  of  Fourth  of  July. 

The  old  question  was  being  again  raised. 
The  bride  was  standing  there  in  the  midst  of 
the  men,  a  true  good  woman,  a  woman  who  had 
sinned,  yet  a  woman  who  had  suffered.  One 
who  had  fallen  was  she,  yet  one  who  had 
resisted  more  than  many  a  woman  who  would 
have  cast  a  stone  at  her.  She  was  very  glad, 
and  not  a  man  but  was  glad  to  see  it. 

"  That  baby  !  It  is  an  angel,  and  its  mother's 
name  is  Madonna.  That  little  bit  of  a  brat ! 
Why,  I  seed  it  first,  first  of  any  body,  and  it 
wasn't  bigger  than  a  pound  of  soap  after  a 
whole  day's  washing.  Make  a  fuss  about  that 


ANOTHEB   WEDDING   AT   THE   FORKS.     207 

little  thing !  A  man  who  would  make  a  fuss 
about  a  baby  no  bigger  than  that,  no  matter 
when  it  was  born,  is  a  fool !  " 

"Bully  for  Bunk  — for  — for  Missis  Tim! 
Bully  for  Missis  Tim!"  and  the  men  shouted, 
and  Mrs.  Tim  blushed  from  sheer  joy. 

The  Gopher  cheered  perhaps  more  lustily 
than  any  one,  for  he  admired  the  Widow,  and 
knew  her  love  and  worth.  The  Gopher,  it  is 
true,  was  in  disgrace,  for  the  story  went  that 
the  young  man,  his  partner,  who  was  the  first  to 
be  buried  in  the  Forks,  had  fallen  by  his  hand. 
The  blow  had  been  struck  in  a  crowd,  it  was 
said,  and  no  one  saw  it,  or  at  least  no  one 
cared  to  tell  of  it  if  he  did,  and  so  the  Gopher 
had  been  left  alone,  and  he  had  left  men 
alone,  and  lived  all  the  time  by  himself  in  a 
sort  of  cave,  and  that  is  why  he  was  called 
the  Gopher.  Strange  stories  were  told  of  this 
Gopher,  too,  and  men  who  pretended  to  know 
said  his  cave  was  lined  with  gold. 

"  That  baby !  "  began  the  Gopher,  lifting  up 
his  doubled  fist,  and  bringing  it  down  now  and 
then  by  way  of  emphasis.  "  That  baby !  Look 
here  !  Here's  one  baby  among  a  thousand  men. 
Here's  a  thousand  men  asking  if  it's  got  a  father. 
Now  does  that  little  baby  want  a  father  ?  I've 
got  a  cave  full  of  gold  and  I'll  be  its  father ! 
I'll  be  its  brother  and  uncle  and  aunt  and 


208     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIEKRAS. 

mother !  "  The  Gopher  thundered  his  fist  down 
on  the  bar  as  he  concluded,  and  the  glasses  there 
jumped  up  and  clinked  together,  and  bowed  to 
each  other,  as  if  they  had  been  dancers  about 
to  begin  a  cotillion. 

The  woodpecker  flew  away,  and  the  mice 
were  heard  no  more  that  day,  for  the  men 
shouted  their  approval  till  they  were  hoarse- 
voiced  as  mules. 

Deboon  had  been  sitting  there  all  the  time, 
half  doubled  over  a  bench.  He  perhaps  was 
thinking  of  the  first  wedding,  for  he  kept  look 
ing  straight  across  the  room  to  the  pine  logs 
on  the  other  side,  and  then  he  seemed  to  fix 
his  eyes  on  some  object  there,  and  to  fall  to 
thinking  very  generally.  At  last  he  began  to 
count  on  his  fingers.  Then  suddenly  he  fairly 
laughed  with  delight.  He  sprang  up,  stepped 
across  the  room,  put  his  finger  on  the  spot 
where  Limber  Tim  had  stood  scrawling  with 
his  big  pencil  the  day  he  was  so  embarrassed 
at  Sandy's  wedding,  and  shouted  out  — 

"  Look  here !  There  it  is.  That's  the  date. 
That's  the  day  they  was  married  —  September 
eighteen  hundred  and  fifty  !  " 

"  Just  eight  months  !  "  roared  a  man  in  the 
crowd. 

"Eight  months  !  Ten  of  'em  !  "  and  he  fell 
to  counting  on  his  fingers,  as  he  turned  to  the 


ANOTHER    WEDDING   AT   THE   FORKS.      209 

crowd  and  continued  right  on  up  to  July,  with 
perfect  confidence. 

The  camp  roared,  and  shouted,  and  danced, 
as  never  before.  Why  had  it  been  so  stupid  as 
not  to  set  this  thing  right  from  the  first  ?  It 
was  the  most  penitent  community  that  had  ever 
been.  The  Widow  was  once  more  its  patron 
saint. 

The  Gopher  stood  up  by  the  wall. 

"  Are  you  all  satisfied  now  ?  " 

Satisfied !  They  would  never  doubt  any 
woman  any  more  as  long  as  they  lived. 

He  took  his  bowie-knife  while  the  crowd 
turned  to  take  a  drink,  and  cut  the  date  from 
the  wall ;  and  the  only  record,  perhaps,  of  the 
first  marriage  in  the  Sierras  was  no  more. 

The  sharp-nosed  man,  one  of  those  miserable 
men  who  never  are  satisfied  unless  they  are 
either  miserable  or  making  some  one  else  so, 
came  up  to  the  wall  out  of  the  crowd  and  began 
to  look  on  the  wall  for  the  date,  as  if  he  thought 
there  might  have  been  some  mistake,  and  he 
wanted  to  count  it  all  over  again. 

This  man  began  to  count  on  his  fingers  and 
to  look  along  on  the  wall.  Suddenly  there  was 
a  something  gleaming  in  his  face  like  a  flash  of 
lightning. 

It  was  the  Gopher's  bowie  -  knife.  It  was 
two  inches  of  his  throat. 


210     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

"  Are  you  satisfied,  my  friend?"  smiled  the 
Gopher,  with  a  smile  that  meant  brimstone. 

"  Perfectly  satisfied,"  said  the  wretch  in 
return,  and  at  the  same  time  he  bowed  and 
backed  as  fast  as  he  could  till  he  came  to  the 
door,  and  then  he  was  seen  no  more. 

"  Be  it  really  all  on  the  square,  Judge  ?  " 
asked  Citizen  Tim  one  day,  timidly  and  in  con 
fidence. 

"  Right  ?  — didn't  I  marry  'em  ?  " 

"  But  it  war  n't  twelve  months." 

"Twelve  months!  don't  care  ef  it  war  n't 
six  months.  I  married  'em,  and  I  married  'em 
good  and  fast,  and  that's  the  end  of  it." 

Public  opinion  flows  and  ebbs  like  the  tide 
of  the  sea.  At  one  time  this  little  camp  was 
unanimous  in  the  opinion  that  the  mysterious 
little  woman  could  be  none  other  than  Nancy 
Williams,  and  it  would  talk  of  little  else. 
Then  it  would  tire  of  this  subject,  change  its 
opinion,  and  let  the  matter  drop  for  months 
together. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  JUDGE  IS   LONESOME. 

"  In  the  Spring  a  young  man's  fancy  lightly  turns  to  thoughts  of 
love." 

THIS  was  the  song  of  the  fat  little  Judge, 
one  fine  morning,  as  he  wandered  down 
towards  the  Howling  Wilderness,  sniffing  the 
glorious  balm,  the  very  breath  of  the  forest,  and 
glancing  ever  and  anon  over  his  shoulder 
towards  the  cabin  of  Captain  Tommy. 

How  new,  and  fresh  and  sweet,  and  fragrant 
the  odors  of  the  mighty,  mossy  woods  that 
climbed  and  climbed  and  ever  climbed  as  if  to 
mount  the  summits,  and  push  their  tasselled 
tops  against  the  indolent  summer  clouds  that 
hovered  like  great  white-winged  birds  above 
the  peaks  of  snow.  So  new  and  fresh  it  seemed 
that  summer  morning,  that  the  little  Judge 
stopped  on  the  hillside  and  stood  there  to 
inhale  its  sweetness. 

"  How  fresh  and  fine  is  this  new  world  of 
Californy.  It  is  only  finished  to  day.  I  can 
smell  the  varnish  on  it." 

211 


212      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

The  Judge  took  out  his  great  cotton  ban 
danna,  took  off  his  hat,  and  polished  his  bald 
head  till  it  shone  in  the  sun  like  a  mirror. 

Then  the  little  man  stuffed  his  big  handker 
chief  back  in  his  bosom,  and  went  on  down  the 
trail,  humming  softly  to  himself : 

"In  the  Spring  a  young  man's  fancy  lightly  turns  to  thoughts  of 
love." 

A  man  in  great  gum  boots,  duck  breeches,  a 
hat  like  a  tent,  with  a  gold  pan  under  his  arm 
and  a  pipe  sticking  out  through  a  mask  of  mat 
ted  beard,  met  the  little  man  in  the  trail,  heard 
his  song  as  he  passed,  and  looking  back  over  his 
shoulder,  said  to  himself:  "The  derned  bald- 
headed  old  rooster  !  What 's  he  a-singin  hymns 
fur  now  ?  " 

The  little  Judge  could  not  sit  down  in  the 
saloon.  He  felt  that  something  was  the  matter, 
and  he  thought  that  he  was  lonesome.  The 
little  brown  mice  upstairs  could  be  heard  all 
day  now,  for  the  miners  were  at  work  up  to 
their  thighs  in  the  water,  delving  away  there 
in  their  great  gum  boots  as  if  they  were  in  a 
sort  of  diving-bell. 

So  the  Judge  went  away  from  the  Howling 
Wilderness.  There  was  no  man  to  befound  who 
had  time  to  talk,  and  so  he  sought  a  woman. 

Captain  Tommy  stood  in  the  door  of  her 
cabin  all  untroubled.  She  had  seen  the  little 


THE  JUDGE   IS   LONESOME.  213 

Judge  approach,  but  she  was  too  happy  drink 
ing  in  the  great  summer's  day  that  filled  all 
things  with  peace  and  a  calm  delight,  and  she 
did  not  stir. 

There  are  days  and  occasions  when  even  the 
most  plain  women  are  positively  beautiful ;  and 
when  a  plain  woman  is  beautiful  she  is  the 
most  beautiful  thing  in  the  world. 

This  was  Captain  Tommy's  day  to  be  beauti 
ful,  and  perhaps  she  felt  it,  for  there  she  stood, 
really  playing  the  coquette,  hardly  turning  her 
eyes  to  look  on  the  little  Alcalde,  although  she 
knew  he  was  mad  in  love  with  her. 

He  stood  before  her  in  the  sun  with  his  hat  in 
his  hand.  Then  she  looked  into  the  polished 
mirror  which  he 'humbly  bowed  before  her,  and 
she  saw  that  she  was  really  beautiful. 

"  Captain,"  said  the  mirror,  and  it  bowed  still 
lower.  "  Lady,  in  this  glorious  climate  of  Cali- 
forny,  I  have  snatched  a  few  moments  from  my 
professional  duties  to  come  to  you,  to  say  to 
you  —  to  —  to  beg  of  you  that  you  will  —  will 
you  —  in  this  glorious  climate  of  Californy  this 
morning  ?  " 

The  mirror  was  close  up  under  her  eyes.  She 
smiled,  and  then  she  lifted  her  two  hands  and 
began  to  wind  herself  up  as  fast  as  possible,  so 
that  she  could  answer  the  eager  and  earnest 
little  man  before  her. 


214     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

The  Judge  waited  in  an  ecstacy  of  delight, 
for  he  knew  by  the  twinkle  in  her  eye  that  he 
should  have  to  send  for  the  black-clad  man  with 
the  white  necktie,  who  had  so  terrified  the  Par 
son,  and  he  was  very  happy. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

AFTER  THE  DELUGE  —  WHAT  THEN? 

BY  slow  degrees,  no  one  knew  just  when  or 
how,  the  boy-poet  began  to  find  his  way 
back  after  a  year  or  two  to  the  Widow's  cabin. 
The  miners  wondered  that  Sandy  did  not  pro 
test.  They  saw,  with  some  alarm,  that  the 
Widow  was  even  more  kind  to  him  than  before. 
Was  it  the  pale  pleading  face  of  the  consump 
tive  boy  that  moved  her? 

Years  went  by,  and  the  chronicler  stood 
again  in  the  Forks.  The  town  was  gone ; 
the  miners  had  uprooted  its  very  foundations. 
Then  came  floods  and  buried  the  boulders  and 
the  banks  of  the  stream,  and  widened  it  out  and 
made  it  even  as  a  new-plowed  field. 

Then  a  man,  the  Hon.  Mr.  Sandy,  who  had 
sat  down  with  his  family  quite  satisfied  in  the 
Sierras,  extended  a  fence  around  the  site  of  the 
old  city,  and  planted  and  sowed  and  then  reaped 
the  richest  of  harvests.  On  the  site  of  the 
Howling  Wilderness  the  yellow  golden  grain 
reached  up  till  it  touched  the  very  beard  of  the 
10  215 


216       FIRST  F  AM' LIES   OF   THE   SIERRAS. 

giant.  So  do  perish  the  mining  towns  of  the 
Sierras. 

The  hills  are  not  so  wild  now ;  the  woods 
have  been  mown  away,  and  up  on  the  hill-sides 
the  miners  have  sat  down,  old  and  wrinkled  and 
few  in  numbers ;  and  around  their  quiet  old 
cabins  have  planted  fruit  trees,  and  trees  even 
from  the  tropics.  And  these  trees  flourish  here 
too,  for  though  the  snow  falls  deep,  and  the  sun 
has  little  room  between  the  walls  of  the  mighty 
canon,  still  it  seems  never  now  so  bleak  or  cold. 

There  is  one  little  house  on  the  hill-side,  with 
porches,  and  Spanish  verandahs,  and  hammocks 
swinging  there,  and  all  that,  nestled  down 
among  the  fruit-trees  that  bend  with  fruit  and 
blossom.  Around  this  cabin  and  back  of  it,  and 
up  the  mountains  among  the  firs,  you  see  pretty 
children  passing  in  and  out,  laughing  as  they 
run,  shouting  like  little  Modocs,  shaking  back 
their  hair  all  full  of  the  gold  and  glory  of  the 
California  sun,  and  making  every  one  happy 
who  beholds  them. 

"  All  in  the  glorious  climate  of  Californy  ! " 
says  the  little  man,  as  he  comes  puffing  up  the 
hill  to  his  home,  and  the  children  of  the  First 
Families  run  to  meet  him. 

Can  it  be  possible  ?  Did  they  all  grow  young 
again  ?  Did  they  go  back  and  begin  life  at  the 
beginning  ?  Truly,  there  is  something  in  the 


AFTER  THE   DELUGE  —  WHAT  THEN?     217 

climate,  and  the  fountain  of  youth  flows  cer 
tainly  somewhere  out  of  the  Sierras. 

For  look  !  there  stands  a  woman  winding 
herself  up  to  welcome  her  husband ;  she  is 
only  a  little  stouter,  and  is  even  beautiful. 

As  for  Limber  Tim,  being  an  "  idecated  man," 
he  started  a  newspaper  in  the  nearest  town,  and 
after  many  battles  and  many  defeats,  finally 
climbed  high  on  the  ladder  of  distinction,  and 
is  now  "  the  Hon.  Mr.  Tim,"  with  a  political 
influence  second  in  that  part  of  the  country  to 
no  man,  and  to  only  one  woman. 

How  things  are  changed,  to  be  sure !  The 
caravans  of  clouds  that  little  Billie  Piper  was 
wont  to  look  up  to  and  wonder  at,  still  cross 
the  canon,  and  march  and  countermarch  and 
curl  about  the  far  snow  peaks  as  before.  But 
the  coyote  has  ceased  to  howl  from  the  hill-side. 

And  what  can  that  be  curling  like  steam  up 
from  out  the  mighty  forest  that  belts  the  snow 
peaks  about  the  heads  of  the  three  little  streams 
that  make  the  Forks  ? 

It  looks  like  a  train  of  clouds  driven  straight 
through  the  tree  tops  —  it  is  so  high  and  fairy- 
like  and  far  away.  It  is  as  if  it  were  on  the 
very  summit  of  the  Sierras. 

Ah  !  that  is  the  engine  blowing  off  the  clouds 
of  steam  as  she  drops,  shoots,  slides,  glides  from 
the  mountain  to  the  sea.  The  train  is  a  mile  in 


218     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

length.  The  dust  of  three  thousand  miles  is  on 
her  skirts.  But  before  the  going  down  of  the 
sun  she  will  draw  rein  to  rest  by  the  Golden 
Gate. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  WIDOW  IN  DISGRACE. 

STICK  a  pin  here.  Be  sure  you  remember 
that  these  settlers  of  the  Sierras  were  as 
distinct  a  people  from  the  settlers  by  the  sea  as 
you  can  conceive.  The  one  was  of  the  West, 
the  other  of  the  East.  The  one  ate  codfish 
and  had  a  nasal  accent  arid  sang  hymns.  The 
other  had  never  seen  the  ocean,  he  detested 
codfish,  ate  bacon  and  swore  like  a  pirate. 

Years  went  by  and  people,  strangers,  came 
and  went,  but  our  First  Fam'lies  of  the  Sierras 
remained. 

This  is  history.  The  Phoenicians  landed  and 
left  their  impress  on  Ireland  long  before  Eng 
land  heard  of  the  first  Caesar.  Their  impetuous 
blood  signalizes  the  Fenian  of  to-day. 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers  refused  to  return.  A 
world  of  immigration  flowed  to  and  fro.  But 
these  few  gave  to  the  bleak  and  barren  East 
the  sharp  nose,  the  nationality,  good  or 
bad,  of  the  north  of  North  America  ;  while 
the  few  first  settlers  of  the  South  gave  spring 

219 


220     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

to  a  current  that  will  flow  on  for  a  thousand 
years. 

I  am  all  the  time  wondering  when  I  think  of 
the  people  of  the  Sierras,  what  women,  or  men 
and  women,  the  traveler  of  a  century  hence  will 
find  there. 

I  think  he  will  not  find  a  coward  or  a  miser. 
I  think  he  will  find  a  brave,  generous,  open- 
handed  and  unsuspicious  people.  A  people  full 
of  freedom,  of  lofty  aspiration,  of  purity,  par 
taking  of  the  awful  sublimity  that  environs 
them. 

And  somewhere  in  these  Sierras  will  they 
name  the  new  Parnassus.  The  nine  sisters,  in 
the  far  New  Day,  will  have  their  habitation  here 
when  the  gold  hunter  has  gone  away,  and  the 
last  pick  lies  rusting  in  the  mine. 

The  sea  of  seas  shall  rave  and  knock  at  the 
Golden  Gate,  but  this  shall  be  the  vine-land,  the 
place  of  rest,  that  the  old  Greeks  sought  forever 
to  find.  This  will  be  the  land  of  eternal  after 
noon. 

A  land  born  of  storm  and  rounded  into  shape 
by  the  blows  of  hardy  and  enduring  men,  it 
shall  have  its  reaction  —  its  rest. 

The  great  singer  of  the  future,  born  of  the 
gleaming  snows  and  the  gloomy  forests  of  the 
Sierras,  shall  some  day  swing  his  harp  in  the 
wind  and  move  down  these  watered  and  wooded 


THE   WIDOW   IN   DISGRACE.  221 

slopes  to  conquer  the  world  with  a  song  for 
Peace. 

Now  you  would  have  me  say  that  we  never 
once  sinned  in  this  Eden  of  ours  in  the 
Sierras. 

There  is  an  old  and  a  beautiful  story.  You 
knew  it  long  before  you  learned  to  read.  It 
was  in  that  other  Eden.  There  the  living  God 
spake  face  to  face  with  man.  He  visited  him 
every  day  in  his  own  form.  And  yet  he  fell. 
We  .do  not  claim  to  be  much  better  than  they 
were  in  Eden,  even  in  the  Sierras. 

The  Forks,  like  every  other  place  in  the 
world,  had  its  little  center  of  Aristocracy. 
There  was  here,  as  in  any  other  little  com 
munity,  one  leading  woman  of  fashion ;  the 
one  tyrant  who  admitted  this  or  that  one  to 
the  Social  Center.  This  woman,  an  ancient 
"  School-marm,"  had  firmly  set  her  face  against 
the  Widow  from  the  first.  From  this  there 
was  no  appeal.  The  Widow  was  in  disgrace. 
Still  she  refused  to  banish  the  boy-poet  from 
her  presence. 

The  old  suspicion  hung  in  the  minds  of  the 
miners  at  the  Forks.  One  day  there  were  two 
old  men,  made  mellow  from  the  juice  of  grapes 
they  had  planted  and  grown  on  the  hill-sides 
about  their  cabins,  who  grimly  wagged  their 
heads  and  looked  wise  at  the  mention  of  "  the 


222     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

Widow,"  as  she  was  still  called,  and  sympa 
thized  with  Sandy. 

"  Yes,  pra'ps  it  was  and  pra'ps  it  wasn't,"  one 
would  say  as  he  thought  of  little  "  Half-a-pint," 
now  a  noisy  little  torn-boy  filling  the  fir  woods 
with  laughter,  "  but  then  her  having  that  'ere 
poet  about  her  all  the  time,  that's  what  sticks 
in  my  crop." 

"  That's  what  sticks  in  my  crop,"  echoes  his 
fellow,  as  he  pushes  the  bushy  beard  from  his 
mouth  and  lifts  his  gourd  of  wine. 

"  The  reputation  of  this  ere  camp,"  says 
another,  as  he  sets  down  his  empty  gourd  and 
lays  his  fore-finger  in  his  palm,  and  settles  his 
head  wisely  to  one  side,  "  the  reputation  of  this 
ere  camp  depends  on  a  havin'  of  this  ere  thing 
cleared  up  about  the  Widder." 

"  It  looks  pesky  black,"  put  in  the  other 
garrulous  old  woman  in  duck  breeches,  "  'Cause 
why?  she  still  sees  him." 

44  And  Sandy?" 

Three  old  heads,  helpless,  good-natured  old 
women,  who  had  spent  their  manhood  and  their 
strength  long  before  their  grape-vines  were 
growing  on  the  hill-side,  huddled  close  together 
in  half  maudlin  conversation. 

"  Sandy ! " 

"  He's  a  chuckle-headed  old  idiart." 

"  He  's  a  gitten  old  and  he  can't  help  hisself," 


THE   WIDOW   IN   DISGRACE.  223 

"  He  's  a  gitten  old." 

"  The  chuckle-headed  old  idiart." 

"  Lookee  here  !  " 

An  old  forty-niner  rose  half  way  up,  felt  that 
his  spine  was  not  very  reliable,  and  so  spread 
out  his  two  great  hands  on  the  two  shoulders 
of  his  boon  companion,  and  peered  down  in  his 
face  till  their  two  beards,  white  as  foam,  almost 
flowed  together. 

"Let's  run  'im  out!  " 

At  these  words  an  old  crippled  man  suddenly 
started  up  from  his  place  back  in  the  corner, 
and  tottered  forward  to  where  the  three  old 
heads  were  huddled  together. 

"Run  out  Billie!  Little  Billie  Piper,  that 
never  gits  any  older,  never  has  a  beard !  that 
come  here,  that  come  —  when  did  little  Billie 
Piper  come?  Gintlemen,  you  listen  to  me.  When 
you  run  out  little  Billie  Piper,  by  God,  you  run 
him  out  over  my  bones  ! "  And  here  the  Go 
pher  thundered  his  two  fists  down  on  to  the  pine- 
board  table,  and  turning  on  his  heel  tottered 
out  and  up  the  hill-side  to  his  cabin. 

10* 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

BILLIE   PIPER   AND   DEBOON. 

IT  is  more  than  possible  that  we,  in  America, 
did  once  have  a  real  Bourbon  amongst  us. 
If  a  Bonaparte  could  come  and  wed  with  us, 
and  cast  his  fortune  with  us,  why  certainly  a 
very  heir  to  the  crown  of  France  might  come 
and  spend  his  life  with  us,  live  and  die  unknown. 
I  do  n't  know  that  we  ever  had  any  kings,  or 
sons  of  kings,  or  daughters  of  kings,  or  any 
thing  of  the  kind  with  us  in  the  little  Eden  of 
the  Sierras,  but  I  do  know  that  we  had  some 
odd  men  there,  and  some  great  men  too,  men 
that  deserved  to  be  kings,  whatever  they  may 
have  been. 

And  what  they  were,  what  they  had  been, 
no  man  ever  knew.  There  was  a  truce  to  in 
vestigation.  The  family  tree  stood  in  the  form 
of  a  sombre  pine  at  each  man's  cabin  door. 
That  was  enough.  You  could  not  go  outside 
of  the  camp  for  inquiry.  The  eternal  girdle  of 
snow  lifted  its  front  in  everlasting  protest.  How 
then  shall  I  tell  you  who  this  silent  widow  that 


BILLIE   PIPER   AND   DEBOON.  225 

refused  to  go  away,  that  refused  to  surrender, 
that  refused  to  open  her  lips  —  how  shall  I  tell 
you  who  she  was,  why  she  remained,  or  from 
whence  she  came? 

As  for  Billie  Piper,  the  majority  of  the 
camp  of  course  had  long  settled  down  to 
the  unalterable  conviction  that  he  remained 
for  the  love  of  the  Widow.  And  the  camp 
hated  him  for  it.  He  was  shunned,  despised, 
for  he  did  not  look  the  man ;  he  did  not  even 
act  the  man.  When  he  was  insulted  he  did  not 
resent  it.  He  only  held  his  head  at  such  times, 
gave  the  road  to  all,  avoided  all  for  weeks 
together,  went  on  with  his  work  in  a  feeble 
way,  for  he  was  very  feeble  now,  and  never 
made  answer  to  any  one. 

About  this  time  he  fell  ill ;  or  at  least  the 
report  ran  that  he  was  ill.  Sandy  was  absent 
on  business  in  the  valley  below. 

One  evening  the  Widow  was  seen  to  enter 
his  cabin.  The  camp  was  indignant.  There 
were  now  many  women  in  the  place,  and  her 
actions  did  not  pass  unobserved. 

The  next  day  the  woman,  the  leader  of 
society  in  the  little  mountain  metropolis,  cut 
the  Widow  in  the  street,  or  rather  on  the  hill 
side,  for  the  mining  town  had  passed  away,  and 
there  was  no  street  now. 

Two  sun-bonnets,  made  of  paste-board  and 


226      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

calico,  that  reached  far  out  over  the  faces  of  the 
wearers,  like  the  cover  of  a  pedler's  wagon,  met 
that  afternoon  on  the  hill-side. 

"  It 's  awful !  " 

"  It 's  just  awful !  " 

The  two  covered  wagons  were  poked  up 
close  against  each  other. 

"  She  staid  all  night !  " 

"  She  staid  with  him  till  daylight !  " 

"  I  will  cut  her." 

"  I  have  cut  her." 

The  two  covered  wagons  parted  and  passed 
on. 

You  remember  Deboon?  Well,  let  us  see 
how  the  California  gold  mines  treated  some 
of  the  bold  fellows  who  once  courted  fortune 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago  in  the  Sierras. 
These  mines  were  great  mills.  They  ground 
men,  soul  and  body,  to  powder.  Time,  like  a 
great  river,  turned  the  stones,  and  this  man, 
like  thousands  and  thousands  of  others,  was 
ground  down  to  nothing. 

Twenty  years  had  now  passed.  Twenty  ter 
rible  years,  in  which  this  brave  and  resolute 
man  had  dared  more  than  Csesar,  had  endured 
more  than  Ney ;  and  he  now  found  that  the 
entire  end  of  his  father's  name  had  been,  some 
where  in  the  Sierras,  worn  or  torn  away,  and 
hid  or  covered  up  for  ever  in  the  tailings.  He 


BILLIE   PIPER   AND   DEBOON.  227 

was  now  nothing  but  "  Bab."  While  ground- 
sluicing  one  night,  and  possibly  wondering  what 
other  deduction  could  be  made  and  not  leave 
him  nameless,  he  was  caught  in  a  cave,  sluiced 
out,  and  carried  head-first  through  the  flume. 

This  last  venture  wore  him  down  to  about 
the  condition  of  an  old  quarter-coin,  where 
neither  date,  name,  nor  nationality  can  be  deci 
phered.  His  jaws  were  crushed,  and  limbs 
broken,  till  they  lay  in  every  direction,  like  the 
claws  of  a  sea-crab. 

They  took  him  to  the  County  Hospital,  and 
there  they  called  him  "  Old  Bab."  It  was  a 
year  before  he  got  about;  and  then  he  came 
leaning  on  a  staff,  with  a  frightful  face.  He 
had  lost  all  spirit.  He  sat  moodily  about  the 
hospital,  and  sometimes  said  bitter  things. 

One  day  he  said  of  Grasshopper  Jim,  who 
was  a  great  talker,  "  That  man  must  necessa 
rily  lie.  There  is  not  truth  enough  in  the 
United  States  to  keep  his  tongue  going  for  ever 
as  it  does." 

One  evening  a  young  candidate  told  him  he 
was  going  to  make  a  speech,  and  very  patron 
izingly  asked  him  to  come  out  and  hear  him. 
Old  Bab  looked  straight  at  the  wall,  as  if  count 
ing  the  stripes  on  the  paper,  then  said,  half  to 
himself,  "  The  fact  of  Balaam's  ass  making  a 
speech  has  had  a  more  demoralizing  influence 


228     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

than  any  other  event  told  in  the  Holy  Bible  ;  for 
ever  since  that  time  every  lineal  descendant 
seems  determined  to  follow  his  example." 

His  face  was  never  relieved  by  a  smile,  and 
his  chin  stuck  out  fearfully :  so  that  one  day, 
when  Snapping  Andy,  who  was  licensed  by  the 
miners  to  be  the  champion  growler  of  the  camp, 
called  him  "  Old  Baboon,"  it  was  as  complete 
as  a  baptismal  ceremony,  and  he  was  known  by 
no  other  name. 

Some  women  visited  him  one  evening ;  fallen 
angels — women  with  the  trail  of  the  serpent 
all  over  them.  They  gave  him  a  pipe  and 
money,  and,  above  all,  words  of  encourage 
ment  and  kindness. 

He  moodily  filled  the  meerschaum  they  had 
brought  him,  and  after  driving  a  volume  of 
smoke  through  his  nose,  looked  quietly  up  and 
said :  "  Society  is  wrong.  These  women  are 
not  bad  women.  For  my  part,  I  begin  to  find 
so  much  that  is  evil  in  that  which  the  world 
calls  good,  and  so  much  that  is  good  in  what 
the  world  calls  evil,  that  I  refuse  to  draw  a  dis 
tinction  where  God  has  not." 

Then  he  fired  a  double-barrelled  volley  at 
society  through  his  nose,  and  throwing  out  vol 
ume  after  volume  of  smoke  as  a  sort  of  redoubt 
between  himself  and  the  world  he  hated, 
drifted  silently  into  a  tropical,  golden  land  of 
dreams. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE  GOPHER. 

AND  do  you  remember  the  man  they  called 
The  Gopher  ?  Poor  old  Gopher  !  His 
was  another  story.  He  died  before  Baboon 
found  his  fortune,  else  they  might  have  set  up 
together,  and  behind  their  bulldogs  and  grizzlies 
growled  at  the  world  a  day  or  two  with  perfect 
satisfaction.  But  fate  said  otherwise. 

The  Gopher  had  always  been  misunderstood, 
even  from  the  first.  If  the  camp  held  him  at 
arm's  length  in  the  old  days,  it,  as  a  rule, 
shunned  him  now,  when  new  men  came  in, 
and  murder  began  to  be  a  word  with  a  terrible 
meaning,  and  even  the  good  Widow  almost 
forgot  him. 

The  camp  went  down,  and  cabins  were  de 
serted  by  hundreds.  But  there  was  one  cabin 
that  was  never  vacant ;  it  stood  apart  from 
town,  on  the  brown  hill-side,  and  as  it  was  one 
of  the  first,  so  it  promised  to  be  the  last  of  the 
camp.  It  always  had  an  ugly  bull-dog  tied  to 
the  door — was  itself  a  low,  suspicious-looking 

229 


230      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

* 

structure  that  year  by  year  sank  lower  as  the 
grass  grew  taller  around  it,  till  it  seemed  trying 
to  hide  "in  the  chaparral.  It  had  but  one  oc 
cupant,  a  silent,  selfish  man,  who  never  came 
out  by  day  except  to  bury  himself  alone  in  his 
claim  at  work.  Nothing  was  known  of  him  at 
all,  save  the  story  that  he  had  killed  his  partner 
in  a  gambling-house  away  back  somewhere  in 
'51.  He  was  shunned  and  feared  by  all,  and  he 
approached  and  spoke  to  no  one  except  the 
butcher,  the  grocer,  and  expressman ;  and  to 
these  only  briefly,  on  business.  I  believe,  how 
ever,  that  the  old  cripple,  Baboon,  sometimes 
sat  on  the  bank  and  talked  to  the  murderer  at 
work  in  his  claim.  It  was  even  said  that 
Baboon  was  on  fair  terms  with  the  dog  at  the 
door. 

This  solitary  man  of  the  savage  dog  was,  as 
you  guess,  "  The  Gopher."  That  was  not  the 
name  given  him  by  his  parents,  but  it  was  the 
name  the  camp  had  given  him  a  generation 
before,  and  it  was  now  the  only  name  by  which 
he  was  known.  The  amount  of  gold  which  he 
had  hoarded  and  hidden  away  in  that  dismal 
old  cabin,  through  years  and  years  of  incessant 
toil,  was  computed  to  be  enormous. 

Year  after  year  the  grass  stole  farther  down 
from  the  hill-tops  to  which  it  had  been  driven, 
as  it  were,  in  the  early  settlement  of  the  camp ; 


THE  GOPHER.  231 

at  last  it  environed  the  few  remaining  cabins, 
as  if  they  were  besieged,  and  it  stood  up  tall 
and  undisturbed  in  the  only  remaining  trail. 
Still  regularly  three  times  a  day  the  smoke 
curled  up  from  the  Gopher's  cabin,  and  the  bull 
dog  kept  unbroken  sentry  at  the  door. 

In  the  January  spring  that  followed,  the 
grass  and  clover  crept  down  strong  and  thick 
from  the  hills,  and  spread  in  a  pretty  carpet 
across  the  unmeasured  streets  of  the  once  pop 
ulous  and  prosperous  camp.  Little  gray  horned 
toads  sunned  themselves  on  the  great  flat  rocks 
that  had  served  for  hearth-stones,  and  the  wild 
hop-vines  clambered  up  and  across  the  toppling 
and  shapeless  chimneys. 

About  this  time  a  closely-contested  election 
drew  near.  It  was  a  bold  and  original  thought 
of  a  candidate  to  approach  the  Gopher  and 
solicit  his  vote.  His  friends  shook  their  heads, 
but  his  case  was  desperate,  and  he  ventured 
down  upon  the  old  gray  cabin  hiding  in  the 
grass  and  chaparral.  The  dog  protested,  and 
the  office-seeker  was  proceeding  to  knock  his 
ugly  teeth  down  his  throat  with  a  pick-handle, 
when  the  door  opened,  and  he  found  the  muzzle 
of  a  double-barrelled  shot-gun  in  his  face.  The 
candidate  did  not  stay  to  urge  his  claims,  and 
the  Gopher's  politics  remained  a  mystery. 

Here  in  this  land  of  the  sun  the  days  trench 


232      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

deep  into  the  nights  of  northern  countries,  and 
birds  and  beasts  retire  before  the  sunset :  a 
habit  which  the  transplanted  Saxon  declines  to 
adopt. 

Some  idlers  sat  at  sunset  on  the  verandah  of 
the  last  saloon,  looking  down  the  gulch  as  the 
manzanita  smoke  curled  up  from  the  Gopher's 
cabin. 

There  is  an  hour  when  the  best  that  is  in  man 
comes  to  the  surface  ;  sometimes  the  outcrop- 
pings  are  not  promising  of  any  great  inner 
wealth ;  but  the  indications,  whatever  they  may 
be,  are  not  false.  It  is  dulse  and  drift  coming 
to  the  surface  when  the  storm  of  the  day  is 
over.  Yet  the  best  thoughts  are  never  uttered  ; 
often  because  no  fit  words  are  found  to  array 
them  in ;  oftener  because  no  fit  ear  is  found  to 
receive  them. 

How  lonesome  it  looked,  that  little  storm- 
stained  cabin  thus  alone,  stooping  down,  hiding 
away  in  the  long  strong  grass,  as  if  half- asham 
ed  of  the  mournful  history  of  its  sad  and  lonely 
occupant. 

A  sailor  broke  silence  :  "  Looks  like  a  Feejee 
camp  on  a  South  Sea  island." 

"  Robinson  Crusoe  — the  last  man  of  the  orig 
inal  camp —  the  last  rose  of  Summer."  This 
was  said  by  a  young  man  who  had  sent  some 
verses  to  the  Hangtown  Weekly. 


THE  GOPHBB.  233 

"  Looks  to  me,  in  its  crow's  nest  of  chaparral, 
like  the  lucky  ace  of  spades,"  added  a  man  who 
sat  apart  contemplating  the  wax  under  the  nail 
of  his  right  forefinger. 

The  schoolmaster  here  picked  up  the  ace  of 
hearts,  drew  out  his  pencil  and  figured  rapidly. 

"  There  !  "  he  cried,  flourishing  the  card,  "  I 
put  it  an  ounce  a  day  for  eighteen  years,  and 
that  is  the  result."  The  figures  astonished 
them  all.  It  was  decided  that  the  old  miser 
had  at  least  a  mule-load  of  gold  in  his  cabin. 

"  It  is  my  opinion,"  said  the  new  Squire,  who 
was  small  of  stature,  and  consequently  insolent 
and  impertinent,  "  he  had  ought  to  be  taken 
up,  tried,  and  hung  for  killing  his  pardner  in 
'51." 

"  The  time  has  run  out,"  said  the  Coroner, 
who  now  came  up,  adjusting  a  tall  hat  to  which 
he  was  evidently  not  accustomed ;  «'  the  time 
for  such  cases  by  the  law  made  and  provided 
has  run  out,  and  it  is  my  opinion  it  can  't  be 
did." 

Not  long  after  this  it  was  discovered  that  the 
Gopher  was  not  at  work.  Then  it  came  out 
that  he  was  very  ill,  and  that  Old  Baboon  was 
seen  to  enter  his  cabin. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A  NATURAL  DEATH. 

EARLY  one  frosty  morning  in  the  Fall 
following,  Old  Baboon  sat  by  the  door  of 
the  only  saloon.  He  held  an  old  bull-dog  by  a 
tow-string,  and  both  man  and  dog  were  pic 
tures  of  distress  as  they  shivered  from  the  keen 
cold  wind  that  came  pitching  down  from  the 
snow-peaks.  As  a  man  approached,  the  man 
shivered  till  his  teeth  chattered,  and  clutching 
at  the  string,  looked  helplessly  over  his  shoul 
der  at  the  uncompromising  bar-keeper,  who  had 
just  arisen  and  opened  the  door  to  let  out  the 
bad  odors  of  his  den. 

The  dog  shivered  too,  and  came  up  and  sat 
down  close  enough  to  receive  the  sympathetic 
hand  of  Old  Baboon  on  his  broad  bowed  head. 
This  man  was  a  relic  and  a  wreck.  More  than 
twenty  years  of  miner's  life  and  labor  in  the 
mountains,  interrupted  of  late  only  by  period 
ical  sprees  governed  in  their  duration  solely  by 
the  results  of  his  last  "  clean  up,"  had  made 
him  one  of  a  type  of  men  known  only  to  the 
Pacific. 

234 


A  NATUKAL  DEATH.  235 

True,  he  had  failed  to  negotiate  with  the 
savage  cinnamon-headed  vendor  of  poison  ;  but 
he  was  no  beggar.  It  was  simply  a  failure  to 
obtain  a  Wall  Street  accommodation  in  a  small 
way.  I  doubt  if  the  bristled-haired  bar-keeper 
himself  questioned  the  honesty  of  Baboon.  It 
was  merely  a  question  of  ability  to  pay,  and  the 
decision  of  the  autocrat  had  been  promptly  and 
firmly  given  against  the  applicant. 

Perhaps,  in  strict  justice  to  the  red-haired 
wretch  that  washed  his  tumblers  and  watched 
for  victims  that  frosty  morning,  I  should  state 
that  appearances  were  certainly  against  Ba 
boon. 

You  can  with  tolerable  certainty,  in  the 
placer  mines,  tell  how  a  miner's  claim  is  paying 
by  the  condition  and  quality  of  his  top-boots. 
Baboon  had  no  boots,  only  a  pair  of  slippers 
improvised  from  old  rubbers,  and  between 
the  top  of  these  and  the  legs  of  his  pantaloons 
there  was  no  compromise  across  the  naked, 
cold-blue  ankles. 

These  signs,  together  with  a  buttonless  blue 
shirt  that  showed  his  hairy  bosom,  a  frightful 
beard  and  hair  beneath  a  hat  that  drooped  like 
a  wilted  palm-leaf,  were  the  circumstantial 
evidences  from  which  Judge  Barkeep  made  his 
decision. 

It  would  perhaps  be  more  pleasant  for  us  all 


236     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

if  we  could  know  that  such  men  were  a  race  to 
themselves ;  that  they  never  saw  civilization  ; 
that  there  never  was  a  time  when  they  were 
petted  by  pretty  sisters,  and  sat,  pure  and 
strong,  the  central  figures  of  Christian  house 
holds  ;  or  at  least  we  would  like  to  think  that 
they  grew  upon  the  border,  and  belonged  there. 
But  the  truth  is,  very  often,  they  came  of  the 
gentlest  blood  and  life.  The  border  man, 
born  and  bred  in  storms,  never  gets  discour 
aged  :  it  is  the  man  of  culture,  refinement,  and 
sensitive  nature  who  falls  from  the  front  in  the 
hard-fought  battles  of  the  West. 

This  man's  brow  was  broad  and  full ;  had  his 
beard  and  hair  been  combed  and  cared  for,  his 
head  had  looked  a  very  picture.  But  after  all, 
there  was  one  weak  point  in  his  face.  He  had 
a  small,  hesitating  nose. 

As  a  rule,  in  any  great  struggle  involving  any 
degree  of  strategy  and  strength,  the  small  nose 
must  go  to  the  wall.  It  may  have  pluck,  spirit, 
refinement,  sensitiveness,  and,  in  fact,  to  the 
casual  observer,  every  quality  requisite  to  suc 
cess  ;  but  somehow  invariably  at  the  very  crisis 
it  gives  way. 

Small  noses  are  a  failure.  This  is  the  verdict 
of  history.  Give  me  a  man,  or  woman  either, 
with  a  big  nose  —  not  a  nose  of  flesh,  not  a 
loose  flabby  nose  like  a  camel's  lips,  nor  a  thin, 


A  NATURAL  DEATH.  237 

starved  nose  that  the  eyes  have  crowded  out 
and  forced  into  prominence,  but  a  full,  strong, 
substantial  nose,  that  is  willing  and  able  to  take 
the  lead ;  one  that  asserts  itself  boldly  between 
the  eyes,  and  reaches  up  towards  the  brows, 
and  has  room  enough  to  sit  down  there  and  be 
at  home. 

Give  me  a  man,  or  woman  either,  with  a 
nose  like  that,  and  I  will  have  a  nose  that  will 
accomplish  something.  I  grant  you  that  such 
a  nose  may  be  a  knave ;  but  it  is  never  a 
coward  nor  a  fool  —  never ! 

In  the  strong  stream  of  miners'  life  as  it  was, 
no  man  could  stand  still.  He  either  went  up 
or  down.  The  strong  and  not  always  the  best 
went  up.  The  weak  —  which  often  embraced 
the  gentlest  and  sweetest  natures  —  were  borne 
down  and  stranded  here  and  there  all  along  the 
river. 

I  have  noticed  that  those  who  stop,  stand, 
and  look  longest  at  the  tempting  display  of 
viands  in  cook  -  shop  windows,  are  those  that 
have  not  a  penny  to  purchase  with.  Perhaps 
there  was  something  of  this  nature  in  Old 
Baboon  that  impelled  him  to  look  again  and 
again  over  his  shoulder  —  as  he  clutched  tighter 
to  the  tow -string  —  at  the  cinnamon  -  headed 
bottle-washer  behind  the  bar. 

A  stranger    stood    before    this    man.      He 


238         FIRST    FAMILIES   OF   THE   SIEERAS. 

turned  his  eyes  from  the  barkeeper  and  lifted 
them  helplessly  to  his. 

"  Charlie  is  dead." 

"  Charlie  who  ?     Who  is  '  Charlie  '  ?  " 

"  Charlie  Godfrey,  The  Gopher,  and  here  is 
his  dog  ;  "  and  as  he  spoke,  the  dog,  as  if  know 
ing  his  master's  name  and  feeling  his  loss, 
crouched  close  to  the  old  man's  legs. 

A  new  commotion  in  camp. 

Say  what  you  will  of  gold,  whenever  any 
one  shuts  his  eyes  and  turns  for  ever  from  it,  as 
if  in  contempt,  his  name,  for  a  day  at  least, 
assumes  a  majesty  proportionate  with  the 
amount  he  has  left  behind  and  seems  to  despise. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A    FUNERAL. 

THE  Coroner,  who  was  a  candidate  for  a 
higher  office,  marshalled  the  leading 
spirits,  and  proceeded  to  the  cabin  where  the 
dead  man  lay.  He  felt  that  his  reputation  was 
at  stake,  and  entering  the  cabin,  said  in  a  solemn 
voice  :  "  In  the  name  of  the  law,  I  take  posses 
sion  of  this  primesis."  Some  one  at  the  door, 
evidently  not  a  friend  to  the  Coroner's  political 
aspirations,  called  out :  "  O  what  a  hat !  " 
The  officer  was  not  abashed,  but  towered  up  till 
his  tall  hat  touched  the  roof,  and  repeated,  uln 
the  name  of  the  law,  I  take  possession  of  these 
primesis."  This  time  there  was  no  response  or 
note  of  derision,  and  it  was  quietly  conceded 
that  The  Gopher  and  all  his  gold  were  in  the 
hands  of  the  Coroner. 

The  cabin  was  a  true  and  perfect  relic  of 
what  might,  geologically  speaking,  be  termed  a 
"  Period  "  in  the  plastic  formation  of  the  Re 
public.  Great  pine  logs,  one  above  the  other, 
formed  three  of  its  walls  ;  the  fourth  was  made 
ii  239 


240     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

up  by  a  fire-place,  constructed  of  boulders  and 
adobe.  The  bed  had  but  one  post ;  a  pine 
slab,  supported  by  legs  set  in  the  center  of  the 
earthen  floor,  formed  a  table;  the  windows 
were  holes,  chiseled  out  between  the  logs,  that 
could  be  closed  with  wooden  plugs  in  darkness 
or  danger. 

Let  these  cabins  not  be  despised.  Their 
builders  have  done  more  for  the  commerce  of 
the  world  than  is  supposed. 

It  is  to  be  admitted  that  the  dead  man  did 
not  look  so  terrible,  even  in  death,  as  the  mind 
had  pictured  him.  His  unclosed  eyes  looked 
straight  at  those  who  came  only  to  reproach 
him,  and  wonder  where  his  money  was  buried, 
till  they  were  abashed. 

Standing  there,  the  jury,  under  direction  of 
the  Coroner,  gave  a  verdict  of  "  Death  from 
general  debility."  Some  one  tried  to  bring  the 
Coroner  into  contempt  again,  by  afterwards 
calling  attention  to  the  fact  that  he  had  for 
gotten  to  swear  the  jury ;  but  the  officer  replied, 
"  It  is  not  necessary  in  such  cases  by  the  law 
made  and  provided,"  and  so  was  counted  wise 
and  correct. 

They  bore  the  body  in  solemn  silence  to  the 
grave  yard  on  the  hill — may  be  a  little  nearer 
to  heaven.  "  How  odd,  that  nearly  all  grave 
yards  are  on  a  hill,"  said  little  Billie  Piper 


A   FUNERAL.  241 

once  more.  But  he  said  it  now  to  himself,  for 
he  stood  alone.  No  one  shook  hands  with  him 
now.  He  had  crept  out  of  his  bed  to  stand  by 
his  dead  friend.  The  places  of  chief  mourners 
were  assigned  to  Baboon  and  the  dog,  and 
Billie  Piper.  Whether  these  places  were  given 
because  Baboon  and  Billie  were  the  only  present 
friends  of  the  deceased,  or  whether  the  dog 
quietly  asserted  a  right  that  no  one  cared  to 
dispute,  is  not  certain.  Most  likely  it  was  one 
of  those  things  that  naturally,  and  therefore 
correctly,  adjust  themselves. 

When  these  bearded  men  in  blue  shirts  rested 
their  burden  at  the  open  grave,  they  looked  at 
each  other,  and  there  was  an  unpleasant  pause. 
Perhaps  they  thought  of  the  Christian  burial- 
service  in  other  lands,  and  felt  that  something 
was  wanting.  At  last  Baboon  stole  up  close 
to  the  head  of  the  grave,  hesitated,  lifted  and 
laid  aside  his  old  slouch  hat,  and  looking  straight 
down  into  the  earth,  said,  in  a  low  and  helpless 
way: 

"  Earth  to  earth  and  dust  to  dust !  "  — 
hesitated  again  and  then  continued :  "  The 
mustard  and  the  clover  seed  are  but  little  things, 
and  no  man  can  tell  the  one  from  the  other  ; 
yet  bury  them  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
earth,  and  each  will  bring  its  kind  perfect  and 
beautiful, —  and — and  —  man  is  surely  more 


242      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

than  a  little  seed  —  and —  and  ;  "  here  he  quite 
broke  down,  and  knelt  and  kissed  the  face  of 
the  dead. 

The  men  looked  away  for  a  while,  as  if  to 
objects  in  the  horizon,  and  then,  without  look 
ing  at  each  other,  or  breaking  silence,  lowered 
the  unshapely  box,  caught  up  the  spades,  and 
found  a  relief  in  heaping  the  grave. 

Then  the  Coroner,  as  in  duty  bound,  or,  as  he 
expressed  it,  "  as  required  by  the  law  in  such 
cases  made  and  provided,"  directed  his  atten 
tions  to  a  search  for  the  buried  treasure. 

Yeast-powder  boxes,  oyster-cans,  and  sardine- 
boxes,  old  boots  and  quicksilver  tanks,  were 
carried  out  to  the  light  and  inspected,  without 
results.  "  In  the  straw  of  the  bunk,"  said  the 
Coroner ; —  and  blankets,  bunk,  and  straw  were 
carried  out  to  the  sun  ;  but  not  an  ounce  of  gold. 

To  make  sure  against  intrusion  of  the  ill- 
disposed,  the  unwearied  Coroner  slept  on  the 
spot.  The  next  day  the  hearth  was  taken  up 
carefully,  piece  by  piece,  but  only  crickets  clad 
in  black,  and  little  pink -eyed  mice  met  the 
eager  eyes  of  the  men.  At  last  some  one  sug 
gested  that  as  the  hard-baked  earthen  floor  was 
the  last  place  in  which  one  would  look  for 
hidden  treasures,  that  was  probably  the  first 
and  only  place  in  which  the  Gopher  had  buried 
his  gold. 


A  FUNERAL.  243 

The  thought  made  the  Coroner  enthusiastic. 
He  sent  for  picks,  and,  if  we  must  tell  the  truth, 
and  the  whole  truth,  he  sent  for  whisky  also. 
By  sunset  the  entire  earthen  floor  had  been  dug 
to  the  depth  of  many  feet,  and  emptied  outside 
the  door.  Not  a  far  thing's- worth  of  gold  was 
found.  The  next  day  the  chimney  was  taken 
down. 

Lizards,  dust  of  adobes,  but  nothing  more. 
About  this  time,  the  memory  of  the  man  just 
taken  to  the  hill  was  held  in  but  little  respect, 
and  a  good  or  bad  name,  so  far  as  the  over- 
zealous  Coroner  was  concerned,  depended  en 
tirely  on  the  final  results  of  the  search. 

But  one  more  thing  remained  to  be  done  ;  that 
was,  to  remove  the  cabin.  Shingle  by  shingle, 
log  by  log,  the  structure  was  levelled.  Wood- 
rats,  kangaroo-mice,  horned  toads,  a  rattlesnake 
or  two  that  had  gone  into  winter-quarters  under 
the  great  logs,  and  that  was  all.  Not  an  ounce 
of  gold  was  found  in  the  last  cabin  of  the  Mis 
souri  camp. 

The  flat  was  then  staked  off  as  mining -ground 
by  some  enterprising  strangers,  and  they  began 
in  the  center  to  sluice  it  to  the  bed-rock.  They 
sluiced  up  the  gulch  for  a  month,  and  then  down 
the  gulch  for  a  month,  until  the  whole  hill-side 
was  scalped,  as  it  were,  to  the  bone,  and  the 
treasure-hunters  were  bankrupt,  but  not  even 


244      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

so  much  as  the  color  of  the  dead  man's  gold 
was  found. 

The  Forks  was  disgusted,  and  the  Gopher 
was  voted  a  worse  man  dead  than  living. 

It  began  to  be  noticed,  however,  that  Baboon 
had  mended  somewhat  in  his  personal  appear 
ance  since  the  death  of  the  Gopher,  and  it  was 
whispered  that  he  knew  where  the  treasure  was. 

Some  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  he  had 
the  whole  sum  of  it  in  his  possession.  "  Some 
of  these  nights  he'll  come  up  a-missing,"  said 
the  butcher,  striking  savagely  at  his  steel  across 
his  block.  In  justice  to  The  Forks  it  must  be 
observed  she  was  not  without  grounds  to  go 
upon  in  her  suspicions.  For  was  not  Ba"boon 
near  the  man  at  his  death  ?  And  if  he  could 
get  his  dog,  why  not  get  his  gold  also  ? 

One  night  Baboon,  holding  tight  to  a  tow- 
string,  shuffled  up  to  the  stranger  in  the  Saloon, 
and  timidly  plucking  his  sleeve,  said  : 

"Going  away,  I  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  To  the  States  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  To  Missouri  ?  " 

"  May  be." 

"  Well,  then,  look  here  :  come  with  me  !  " — 
and  with  an  old  dog  bumping  his  head  against 
his  heels,  he  led  the  way  out  the  door  down  the 


A   FUNERAL.  245 

gulch  to  the  cabin.  He  pulled  the  latch-string, 
entered,  and  finally  struck  a  light.  Sticking 
the  candle  in  a  whisky-bottle  that  stood  on  a 
greasy  table  in  the  center  of  the  earthen  floor, 
he  picked  up  the  tow-string,  and  pointing  to  the 
bunk  in  the  corner,  they  sat  down  together,  and 
the  old  dog  rested  his  nose  between  the  old 
man's  legs. 

After  looking  about  the  cabin  in  nervous 
silence  for  a  time,  Baboon  arose  with  a  look  of 
resolution,  handed  the  man  his  string,  stepped 
to  a  niche  in  the  wall,  and  taking  an  old  crevic- 
irig-knife,  struck  it  in  stoutly  above  the  latch. 

"  This  means  something,"  said  the  man  to 
himself;  "here  will  be  a  revelation,"  and  a 
vision  of  the  Gopher's  gold-bags  crossed  his 
mind  with  tempting  vividness.  After  a  while 
the  old  man  came  back,  took  up  the  whisky- 
bottle,  removed  the  candle  from  its  neck,  and 
holding  it  up  between  his  face  and  the  light, 
which  he  held  in  the  other  hand,  seemed  to 
decide  some  weighty  proposition  by  the*ruii  of 
the  beads  in  the  bottle,  and  then  turned  and 
offered  it  in  silence. 

As  the  stranger  declined  his  kindness,  he 
hurriedly  took  a  long  draught,  replaced  the 
candle,  then  came  and  sat  down  close  at  his 
side,  took  his  string,  and  the  old  dog  again 
thrust  his  nose  between  his  knees. 


246      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

"  You  see," — and  the  man  leaned  over  to  the 
other,  and  began  in  a  whisper  and  strangeness 
of  manner  that  suggested  that  his  mind  was 
wandering, — "  you  see,  we  all  came  out  here 
together :  Godfrey,  that's  the  Gopher ;  Wilson, 
that's  Curly,  and  I.  Things  did  n't  go  right 
with  me  there,  after  I  came  away,  so  I  just  let 
them  drift  here.  Lost  my  4  grip,'  as  they  say, 
did  n't  have  any  '  snap '  any  more,  as  people  call 
it.  Godfrey  and  Wilson  got  on  very  well, 
though,  till  Wilson  was  killed." 

"  Till  the  Gopher  killed  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  now,  there  's  where  it  is,"  said  Old 
Baboon,  and  he  shuddered.  The  dog,  too, 
seemed  to  grow  nervous,  and  crowded  his  ugly 
head  up  tighter  between  the  old  man's  legs. 

"  There  's  where  it  is.  Godfrey  did  not  kill 
Wilson.  The  Gopher  did  not  kill  Curly  no 
more  than  did  you.  You  see,  Curly  was  young, 
and  out  here,  he  fell  to  gambling  and  taking 
a  bit  too  much,  and  one  night,  when  Godfrey 
tried  to  get  him  away  from  a  game,  a  set  of 
roughs  got  up  a  row,  upset  the  table,  and 
Curly  got  knifed  by  some  one  of  the  set,  who 
made  the  row  to  get  a  grab  at  the  money. 
Godfrey  was  holding  the  boy  at  the  time  to 
keep  him  from  striking,  for  he  was  mad  drunk. 

Poor  Curly  only  said,  '  Do  n't  let  them  know 
it  at  home,'  and  died  in  his  arms.  Every  body 


A   FUNERAL.  247 

was  stranger  to  every  body  then,  and  no  one 
took  stock  in  that  which  did  not  concern  him. 
People  said  Godfrey  was  right  —  that  it  was  a 
case  of  self-defense,  and  Godfrey  never  said  a 
word,  never  denied  he  killed  him,  but  went 
back  to  the  cabin,  and  took  possession  of  every 
thing,  and  had  it  all  his  own  way.  He  worked 
like  a  Chinaman,  and  never  took  any  part  in 
miners'  meetings,  or  any  thing  of  the  kind,  and 
people  began  to  fear  and  shun  him.  By-and- 
by  most  of  his  old  friends  had  gone ;  and  he 
was  only  known  as  the  Gopher." 

Again  Baboon  paused,  and  the  dog  csept 
closer  than  before,  as  if  he  knew  the  name  of 
his  master. 

Once  more  the  man  arose,  lifted  the  candle, 
contemplated  the  beads  in  the  bottle,  as  before, 
and  returned.  He  did  not  sit  down,  but  took 
up  and  pulled  back  the  blankets  at  the  end  of 
the  bunk. 

"I  thought  as  much,"  said  the  stranger  to 
himself.  "  The  gold  is  hidden  in  the  straw." 

"  Look  at  them,"  said  he ;  and  he  threw 
down  a  bundle  of  papers,  and  held  down  the 
dim  candle. 

There  were  hundreds  of  letters,  all  written 
in  a  fine  steel-plate  lady's  hand.  Some  ad 
dressed  to  Godfrey,  and  some  to  Wilson.  Now 

and  then  was  one  with  a  border  of  black,  tell- 
ii* 


248     FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

ing  that  some  one  at  home  no  longer  waited 
the  return.  "  Come  home,  come  home,"  was 
at  the  bottom  of  them  all.  One  addressed  to 
Wilson,  of  a  recent  date,  thanked  him  with  all 
a  mother's  and  sister's  tenderness  for  the  money 
he  had  so  constantly  sent  them  through  all  the 
weary  years. 

"  That  was  it,  you  see  ;  that  was  it.  As  God 
frey,  that 's  the  Gopher,  is  dead,  and  can  send 
them  no  more  money,  and  as  you  was  a-going  to 
the  States,  I  thought  best  that  you  should  drop 
in  and  tell  the  two  families  gently,  somehow, 
that  they  both  are  dead.  Say  that  they  died 
together.  He  sent  them  the  last  ounce  he  had 
the  week  before  he  died,  and  made  me  take 
these  letters  to  keep  them  away  from  the  Coro 
ner,  so  that  he  might  not  know  his  address,  and 
so  that  they  might  not  know  at  home  that  Curly 
had  died  long  ago,  and  died  a  gambler.  Take 
one  of  the  letters  along,  and  that  will  tell  you 
where  they  are." 

Again  Old  Baboon  resumed  the  tow-string. 
He  looked  toward  the  door,  and  when  the  man 
had  stepped  across  the  sill  he  put  out  the  light, 
and  the  two  stood  together. 

The  old  dog  knew  there  was  but  the  one  place 
for  his  master  outside  his  cabin  at  such  a  time, 
and,  blind  leading  the  blind,  thither  he  led  him 
through  the  dark  to  the  saloon. 


A   FUNERAL.  249 


And  whither  went  the  Parson  that  cold 
blustering  morning?  He  set  his  face  against 
the  snow  and  started  out  alone  up  the  corkscrew 
trail  to  try  to  reach,  no  one  knew  where.  Or 
did  he  try  to  reach  any  place  at  all  ?  Did  he 
not  take  this  course  so  that  he  might  leave  the 
mind  of  the  woman  he  had  loved,  free  and 
careless  of  his  fate  ? 

Sandy  had  promised,  and  so  he  had  led  his 
new  wife  to  the  Parsonage,  and  taken  possession 
as  he  had  agreed.  But  rough  as  he  was  he  often 
wished  he  had  not  done  so.  He  could  see  the 
hand  of  his  great  rival  the  Parson  in  all  things 
around  him.  Sometimes  he  almost  fancied  he 
could  see  his  face,  mournful,  sad,  looking  in  at 
the  window  out  of  the  storm  at  the  happy  pair 
by  his  hearth-stone. 

Early  one  Autumn  some  prospectors  pushed 
far  up  the  Fork  running  parallel  with  the  trail 
leading  out  of  camp  ;  and  there,  in  the  leaves, 
they  found  a  skull.  There  was  a  hole  in  the 
temple,  and  the  marks  of  sharp  teeth  on  the 
smooth  white  surface.  They  also  found  a  small 
silver-mounted  pistol. 

The  party  came  down  to  the  Forks  one  night, 
where  friends  were  enjoying  themselves  at  the 
saloon.  The  leader  told  what  they  had  found, 
and  laid  the  pistol  on  the  counter. 


250      FIRST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

It  was  one  of  the  Parson's  little  "  bull-pups." 

The  pistol  was  empty. 

One  final  word  of  the  once  genteel  Deboon, 
and  we  prepare  to  descend  from  the  Sierras. 
Buffeted,  beaten  down,  and  blown  about,  still 
he  lingered  near  his  old  haunts  in  the  Forks. 

At  last,  the  broken  man,  who  was  now  only 
known  as  Old  Baboon,  because  he  was  so  ugly, 
and  twisted,  and  bent,  and  crooked,  when  he 
had  no  home,  no  mine,  no  mind,  nothing  at  all, 
and  did  not  want  any  thing  at  all  but  a  grave, 
stumbled  on  to  a  mine  that  made  him  almost  a 
prince  in  fortune.  He  would  not  leave  the 
Sierras  now.  He  settled  there.  Here  is  an 
extract  from  a  letter  in  which  he  invites  a 
distinguished  traveling  Yankee  philanthropist 
and  missionary  to  come  to  him  and  make  his 
house  his  home.  After  describing  the  house 
and  lands,  he  says : 

"  The  house  stands  in  this  wood  of  pine.  We 
have  two  California  grizzlies,  and  a  pair  of  bull 
dogs.  Sandy  keeps  the  dogs  chained,  but  I  let 
the  grizzlies  go  free.  We  are  not  troubled  with 
visitors." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  CARAVAN  OF  DEATH. 

THE  little  poet  had  no  place  in  the  heart  of 
the  camp  at  the  first.  And  now  at  the 
last  when  he  was  about  to  go  away,  he  held 
even  a  less  place  than  when  he  came. 

Nobody  knew  when  he  came,  nobody  cared. 
Now  that  he  was  passing  away  at  last,  nobody, 
save  the  Widow,  knew  of  it.  Nobody  cared 
to  know  of  it.  Truly,  this  singular  creature 
did  not  "fit  in  "  anywhere  in  the  Sierras. 

The  Widow  had  been  seen  to  enter  the  little 
hermitage  alone,  and  very  regularly  of  late,  but 
no  one  made  inquiry  or  interfered  now.  The 
case  was  peculiar.  The  guilt  of  the  Widow 
was  an  accepted  fact.  No  one  under  the  cir 
cumstances  could  speak  to  her  of  him.  They 
left  this  all  to  her,  a  sort  of  monopoly  of  death. 

We  leave  her  at  this  bedside  and  turn  for  the 
last  time  to  the  little  Chinaman* 

And  what  became  of  the  little  brown  man 
with  the  meek  almond  eyes  and  the  peaceful 
smile  that  for  ever  hovered  about  the  corner  of 
his  mouth  ? 

251 


252      FIKST  FAM'LIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

Poor  little  Washee-Washee !  When  the 
Widow  got  married  he  had  to  go.  He  could 
not  embark  in  business  again,  and  he  would  not 
go  away.  The  Widow  always  gave  him  all  he 
asked  when  he  came  to  her,  but  that  was  very 
little.  She  even  tried  to  persuade  him  to  accept 
little  gifts,  and  to  take  some  delicacies  for  his 
stomach's  sake,  but  the  little  pagan  would  only 
shake  his  head,  smile  the  least  bit  out  of  one 
corner  of  his  mouth,  and  then  go  away  as  if 
half  offended. 

Every  five  years  there  is  a  curious  sort  of 
mule  caravan  seen  meandering  up  and  down  the 
mining  streams  of  California,  where  Chinamen 
are  to  be  found.  It  is  a  quiet  train,  and  quite 
unlike  those  to  be  found  there  driven  by 
Mexicans,  and  bearing  whisky  and  dry  goods. 
In  this  train  or  caravan  the  drivers  do  not  shout 
or  scream.  The  mules,  it  always  seemed  to  me, 
do  not  even  bray.  This  caravan  travels  almost 
always  by  night,  and  it  is  driven  and  managed 
almost  altogether  by  Chinamen.  These  China 
men  are  civil,  very  respectful,  very  quiet,  very 
mournful  both  in  their  dress  and  manner. 

These  mules,  both  in  coming  in  and  in  going 
out  of  a  camp,  are  loaded  with  little  beech-wood 
boxes  of  about  three  feet  in  length  and  one 
foot  square. 

When  the  train  arrives  in  a  camp  these  boxes 


THE  CARAVAN  OF  DEATH.       253 

are  taken  from  off  the  backs  of  the  mules, 
stored  in  some  Chinaman's  cabin  close  to  the 
trail,  and  there  they  lie,  so  far  as  the  world 
knows,  undisturbed  for  two  or  three  days. 
Then  some  midnight,  the  mules  are  quietly 
drawn  up  to  the  cabin  -  door,  the  boxes  are 
brought  out,  and  the  mules  are  loaded,  and  the 
line  winds  away  up  the  hill  and  out  on  the 
mountain  to  where  their  freight  can  be  taken 
down  to  the  sea  on  wheels. 

The  only  apparent  difference  in  these  boxes 
now  is  the  lead  label  at  either  end,  which  was 
not  there  when  they  entered  the  camp. 

This  is  the  caravan  of  the  dead.  No  China 
man  will  consent  to  let  his  bones  lie  in  the  land 
of  the  barbarian.  The  bones  of  every  China 
man,  even  to  the  beggar  —  if  there  ever  was 
such  a  thing  as  a  Chinese  beggar  in  California 
—  are  taken  back  to  the  land  of  his  fathers. 

Washee- Washee  stood  watching  the  train 
climb  the  corkscrew  trail  in  the  gray  dawn  one 
morning,  and  then  shaking  his  head  he  went  to 
the  Widow  and  said  - 

"By'ee,  by'ee.  Washee- Washee  allee  samee." 

And  it  was  so.  His  first  great  commercial 
enterprise  had  been  a  disastrous  failure,  and 
the  brown  little  fellow  never  recovered.  Other 
Chinamen  poured  into  camp,  and  he  certainly 
had  friends  among  them  all,  but  he  went  to  none 


254      FIRST  FAM'LEES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

in  his  griefs  as  he  did  to  the  Widow  ;  she  who 
had  been  his  friend  in  his  first  great  trouble. 

The  little  brown  man  took  to  opium,  and 
gradually  grew  almost  black.  His  little  bright 
black  eyes  grew  brighter,  his  thin  face  grew 
thinner,  and  he  became  a  little  more  than  a 
shadow.  Still  he  would  smile  a  bit  out  of  that 
corner  of  his  mouth.  Would  smile  as  if  he  was 
smiling  at  Death,  and  was  trying  to  cheat  him 
into  the  idea  that  he  felt  perfectly  well. 

The  caravan  came  in  due  time  ;  as  before,  it 
rested,  loaded,  climbed  the  hill,  and  as  the  train 
led  up  against  the  morning  star,  you  might  have 
read  on  one  little  box,  wherein  a  skeleton  lay 
doubled  up  like  a  jack  knife,  this  name : 

"  WASHEE  -  WASHEE." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  END. 

T)EOPLE  began  to  remember  that  they  had 
JL  not  seen  their  silent  and  singular  little 
poet  since  the  death  and  burial  of  the  Gopher. 

Surely  he  was  ill.  At  all  events,  the  Widow 
went  boldly  and  regularly  now  to  his  cabin. 
And  to  the  credit  of  the  camp,  be  it  said,  it  at 
last  began  to  look  with  toleration  on  these  mis 
sions  to  the  humble  vine-clad  hermitage  of  the 
sad  and  lonesome  little  poet. 

Only  once  more  he  came  out  and  sat  by  the 
door,  pale  and  dreamy  and  full  of  mystery. 

The  schoolmaster,  not  an  unkindly  man,  stop 
ped  a  moment  with  his  book  and  slate  under  his 
arm,  as  he  led  a  little  girl  by  the  hand,  and 
looking  into  the  palid  face  before  him,  said  : 

"  It  is  a  hard  old  world,  Billie.  A  hard  old 
world.  At  best  we  have  to  belabor  the  old 
earth ;  beat  her  to  make  her  give  us  bread." 

"Beat  her!"  The  little  thin  hands  clasped 
and  lifted  as  if  in  prayer.  "  Belabor  my  dear 
mother  Earth  ?  Why,  she  gave  us  birth,  she 
255 


256        FIRST   F AM' LIES    OF   THE   SIERRAS. 

gives  us  ^  all  our  bread,  she  gives  us  all  that  is 
beautiful  and  good.  She  will  take  us  again  to 
her  bosom.  I  will  pray  to  Earth,  that  I  may 
have  rest  on  her  tranquil  breast." 

The  schoolmaster  passed  on,  and  the  sad  little 
dreamer  arose  with  difficulty,  and  passed  for 
the  last  time  from  the  light  of  the  sun. 

When  the  schoolmaster  walked  by  next  morn 
ing  the  door  stood  open.  The  little  girl  looked 
in,  and  then  ran  away  as  if  afraid.  Did  she  see 
with  her  child  vision  the  face  of  death  ?  The 
Schoolmaster,  perhaps  fearing  to  compromise 
his  character  by  any  association  with  this  sin 
gular  being,  hurried  on  after  the  little  girl,  and 
did  not  turn  around  or  look  back  till  he  had  set 
foot  over  the  sill  of  the  little  log  school-house  on 
the  hill.  His  heart  was  beating  very  wildly. 
He  had  said  nothing,  he  had  heard  nothing,  he 
had  seen  nothing.  But  somehow  the  man's 
heart  was  beating  with  a  strange  terror,  and  he 
wanted  to  turn  back  and  enter  the  cabin,  and 
speak  once  more  to  the  lonely  little  sufferer. 

The  man  called  his  school  to  order,  however, 
took  off  his  coat,  hung  it  up  behind  the  door, 
ran  his  two  hands  through  his  hair,  time  and 
again,  but  failing  to  pacify  himself  by  this 
means,  called  out  a  little  boy,  and  flogged 
him  soundly. 

He  afterwards   remembered    that  there  was 


THE   END.  257 

a  black  cat  sitting  in  the  door  as  he  passed, 
quietly  washing  her  face,  yet  at  the  same  time 
looking  intently  at  him  out  of  her  green  eyes. 

The  heroes  of  the  world  are  women.  The 
women,  as  a  rule,  have  done  the  great  deeds  of 
valor.  Men,  however,  have  written  the  histories 
and  appropriated  a  great  deal  indeed  to  them 
selves. 

I  know  very  well  that  in  a  certain  kind  of 
noisy  heroism  man  makes  a  great  mark,  and 
instances  of  valor,  even  in  a  quiet  way,  where 
man  fights  his  battle  alone  and  in  the  dark, 
without  the  observation  or  applause  of  the 
world,  are  not  wanting.  But  the  great  battles, 
in  darkness  and  disgrace,  where  death  and 
ignominy  waited,  the  small-great  battles,  the 
heart  the  battle-field,  where  no  friend  would 
come,  where  no  pen  should  chronicle,  these 
silent  fights  have  been  fought  and  won  by 
women. 

Understanding  all  this  I  can  understand 
why  the  Widow  chose  to  bear  all  the  reproof, 
and  let  her  friend,  the  refugee,  the  dreamer, 
the  "  Poet,"  live  and  die  unknown  and  in 
peace. 

The  next  morning  as  the  Schoolmaster  came 
by,  with  the  little  girl  sliding  up  close  to  his 
legs,  on  the  opposite  side  from  the  cabin,  the 
Widow  with  a  face  of  unutterable  sadness  was 


outside  trying  to  tie  a  piece  of  something  black 
to  the  door-latch. 

The  man  lifted  his  hat,  and  came  reverently 
and  slowly  forward. 

There  was  no  need  of  saying  anything  now. 
He  understood  it  all,  and  after  assisting  her  in 
silence  to  do  the  office  of  respect  for  the  dead 
within,  he  took  the  little  girl's  hand  again  in 
his,  turned  to  go,  took  a  few  steps  forward, 
and  then  stopping  and  turning  around,  again 
lifted  his  hat  and  said  softly  to  the  Widow  : 

"  I  will  stop  at  the  saloon  and  send  up  some 
of  the  boys  to  take  charge  of  the  body  and 
prepare  it  for  the  grave." 

"No,"  sighed  the  Widow  in  a  voice  that  was 
scarcely  heard  above  the  beating  of  her  heart, 
"  No,  George,"  and  she  came  slowly  and  calmly 
up  to  the  man  and  stood  there  with  her  white 
face  lifted  close  into  his.  "  No  George,  you 
will  go  back  to  the  house,  and  get  your  mother 
and  your  sister  to  come  and  help  me  now  at  the 
last.  For  it  is  a  woman  that  lies  dead  there  in 
that  little  vine-covered  cabin." 

The  woman  had  kept  the  woman's  secret. 
She  had  given  her  life  as  it  were  for  the  life  of 
another.  But  now  that  all  was  over ;  the 
whole  story  was  to  be  written  in  the  single 
name  on  the  little  granite  gravestone.  It  was 
the  name  of  NANCY  WILLIAMS. 

THE  END. 


PUBLICATIONS 


JANSEN,  McCLURG  &  C° 

CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS. 


CATON.— A  Summer  in  Norway,  with  Notes  on  the  Indus 
tries,  Habits,  etc.,  of  the  People,  the  History  of  the  Country,  the 
Climate  and  Productions,  and  of  the  Red  Deer,  Reindeer,  and 
Elk,  by  Hon.  J.  D.  CATON,  LL.D.  8vo.,  401  pages.  Illustrated. 
Price,  $2.50. 

"  The  tone  of  the  book  is  frank,  almost  colloquial,  always  communicative  and 
leaves  a  favorable  impression  both  of  the  intelligence  and  good  nature  with  which 
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lent  specimens  of  terse  and  graphic  composition,  presenting  a  distinct  image  to  the 
mind,  without  any  superfluous  details."—  New  York  Tribune. 

I  The  book  of  travels,  which  Judge  CATON  has  presented  to  the  public,  is  of  a 
high  order  of  merit,  and  sets  forth  the  interesting  natural  phenomena  and  popular 
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II  He  is,  as  far  as  we  know,  the  first  foreign  traveler  who  has  given  anything 
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—  The  Nation. 

CHARD.-Across  the  Sea,  and  Other  Poems.  ByTnos. 
S.  CHARD.  Square  i6mo.,  55  pages,  tinted  paper.  Price,  $1.00. 

u  This  little  gem  of  a  book  is  one  of  the  best  instances  of  multum  in  parvo 
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by  inspiration.  *  *  There  is  a  mysticism  in  the  little  book,  which  reminds 
us  of  the  l  Lotus  Eaters'  or  l  Festus.'  " — The  Alliance. 

CLEVELAND.-Landscape  Architecture,  as  applied  to 
the  wants  of  the  West ;  with  an  Essay  on  Forest  Planting  on  the 
Great  Plains.  By  H.  W.  S.  CLEVELAND,  Landscape  Architect. 
i6mo.,  147  pages.  Price,  $1.00. 

"  My  object  in  these  few  pages  is  simply  to  show  that,  by  whatever  name  it  may 
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men,  is  an  art  demanding  the  exercise  of  ingenuity,  judgment  and  taste,  and  one 
which  nearly  concerns  the  interest  of  real  estate  proprietors,  and  the  welfare  and 
happiness  of  all  future  occupants." — Extract  from  Preface. 


2  PUBLICATIONS  OF  JANSEN,  McCLURG  &  CO. 

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By  Miss  ALICE  ARNOLD  CRAWFORD.  Square  I2mo.,  full  gilt, 
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"  There  is  about  these  poems  an  air  of  trusting  faith,  of  gentle  tenderness,  as 
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and  the  living  steal  in  the  shadows  of  the  evening  to  seek  a  rest  from  weariness  and 
pain." — Inter-Ocean. 

FOYE.-Tables  for  the  Determination  and  Classifi 
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By  JAMES  C.  FOYE,  A.M.,  Professor  of  Chemistry  and  Physics, 
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pages.  Price,  75  cents. 

11  Following  Dana,  our  chief  American  authority,  and  gathering  aid  from 
yarious  distinguished  European  writers,  this  brief  manual  aims  to  furnish  the 
student  with  such  help  as  is  needed  in  order  to  determine  and  classify  the  minerals 
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other  matters,  precede  the  tables." — Journal  of  Education. 

GILES.-Out  from  the  Shadows.  A  Novel;  by  Miss 
ELLA  A.  GILES.  I2mo.,  317  pages.  Price,  $1.50. 

11  Miss  Giles'  first  work  has  had  a  very  large  sale,  and  has  attracted  the  atten 
tion  of  readers  and  critics  throughout  the  country.  Her  second  book  gives  evidence 
of  the  ripening  powers  of  the  authoress,  and  shows  the  improvement  which  she 
has  made  as  a  writer,  and  a  mastery  of  style  and  effect  which  are  really  uncommon." 
— Milwaukee  News. 

"  The  characters  are  all  well  conceived,  and  the  story  is  pleasantly  written." 
Inter-Ocean. 

GILES.  Bachelor  Ben.  A  Novel ;  by  Miss  ELLA  A.  GILES. 
I2rno.,  308  pages.  Price,  $1.50. 

11  A  story  of  great  descriptive  and  analytic  mastery.  *  *  A  master-piece  of 
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11  The  book  is  refreshingly  guiltless  of  all  superfluous  characters.  The  tone  is 
good  throughout.  The  moral  apparent." — Chicago  Times. 

HALL.-Poems  of  the  Farm  and  Fireside.  By  EUGENE 
J.  HALL.  8vo.,  114  pages.  Fully  illustrated.  Plain,  price, 
$1.75  ;  full  gilt,  price,  $2.25. 

"  In  vigor  and  pathos  they  are  certainly  equal — we  should  say  superior — to 
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Interior. 

"  There  is  a  nobility  of  mind  even  among  the  toilers  of  the  land  too  often 
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side." — Pittsburgh  Commercial. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  JANSEN,  McCLURG  &  CO.  3 

HEWITT.-"  Our  Bible."  Three  Lectures,  delivered  at  Unity 
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pages.  Price,  $1.25. 

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all  particulars." — Chicago  Journal. 

LAMARTINE.-Craziella;     a   Story  of  Italian    Love. 

Translated  from  the  French  of  A.  DE  LAMARTINE  by  JAMES  B. 
RUNNION.  Small  4to,  235  pages,  red  line,  tinted  paper,  full  gilt, 
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41 '  Graziella'  is  a  poem  in  prose.  The  subject  and  the  treatment  are  both 
eminently  poetic.  *  *  *  It  glows  with  love  of  the  beautiful  in  all  nature.  *  * 
*  It  is  pure  literature,  a  perfect  story_,  couched  in  perfect  words.  The  sentences 
have  the  rythm  and  flow,  the  sweetness  and  tender  fancy  of  the  original.  It  is 
uniform  with  '  Memories,'  the  fifth  edition  of  which  has  just  been  published,  and 
it  should  stand  side  by  side  with  that  on  the  shelves  of  every  lover  of  pure,  strong 
thoughts  put  in  pure,  strong  words.  k  Graziella '  is  a  book  to  be  loved." — Tribune, 

MASON.— Mae  Madden.  A  Story;  by  Mrs.  MARY  MUR 
DOCH  MASON,  with  an  introductory  poem  by  JOAQUIN  MILLER. 
i6mo.,  red  edges.  Price,  $1.25. 

11  There  is  hardly  a  page  in  which  you  may  not  find  some  bright,  fresh  thought ; 
some  little  generalization  full  of  the  flavor  of  true  wit,  or  some  charming  descrip 
tion,  deliciously  feminine,  and  running  over  with  the  spirit  of  poetry." — Cincinnati 
Times. 

We  have  read  this  little  book  with  great  pleasure.  *  *  *  It  frequently 
reminds  us  of  Mr.  Howell's  delicately  constructed  stories,  and  in  it,  as  in  a  mirror, 
we  see  reflected  that  true  refinement  and  culture  of  the  author's  mind." — New 
Haven  Palladium. 

MASON     AND     LALOR.-The     Primer    of     Political 

Economy,  in  Sixteen  Definitions  and  Forty  Propositions,  by 
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"  We  know  of  no  other  work  anywhere  of  sixty  pages  that  begins  to  give  the 
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clearness  into  these  sixty  pages." — Hartford  Courant. 

"  For  a  short  and  comprehensive  treatise,  we  know  of  nothing  better  than  '  The 
Primer  of  Political  Economy.'  The  information  is  conveyed  in  a  very  concise  and 
happy  manner.  The  style  is  perfectly  transparent,  and  the  illustrations  admirably 
chosen.  We  venture  to  believe  that  not  a  quarter  of  the  men  in  the  Lower  House 
of  Congress  know  as  much  about  Political  Economy  as  can  be  learned  from  this 
compact  and  interesting  little  treatise." — Christian  Register. 

MILLER.-First  Fam'lies  of  the  Sierras.  A  Novel;  by 
JOAQUIN  MILLER,  i^mo.,  258  pages.  Price,  $1.50. 

A  most  graphic  and  realistic  sketch  of  life  in  a  mining  canon  in  the  very 
earliest  days  of  California.  The  rough  heroes  and  heroines  are  evidently  drawn 
from  life,  and  the  dramatic  scenes  are  full  of  thrilling  interest.  Bret.  Harte  has 
never  worked  this  rich  vein  of  American  life  to  better  advantage. 


4  PUBLICATIONS  OF  JANSEN,  McCLURG  &  CO. 

MULLER.— Memories;  A  Story  of  German  Love.  Translated 
from  the  German  of  MAX  MULLER,  by  GKO.  P.  UPTON.  Small 
4to.,  173  pages,  red -line,  tinted  paper,  full  gilt.  Price,  $2.00. 
The  same,  i6mo.,  red  edges.  Price,  $1.00. 

" 1  Memories'  is  one  of  the  prettiest  and  worthiest  books  of  the  year.  The  story 
is  full  of  that  indescribable  half-naturalness,  that  effortless  vraisemblance,  which 
is  so  commonly  a  charm  of  German  writers,  and  so  seldom  paralleled  in  English. 
*  *  *  Scarcely  could  there  be  drawn  a  more  lovely  figure  than  that  of  the 
invalid  Princess,  though  it  is  so  nearly  pure  spirit  that  earthly  touch  seems  almost 
to  profane  her." — Springfield  (Mass.)  Republican. 

Me  LANDBURGH. -The  Automaton  -Ear  and  Other 
Sketches.  By  Miss  FLORENCE  MCLANDBURGH.  (In press). 

Any  one  of  the  many  who  have  read  "  The  Man  at  Crib,  '  "  The  Automaton- 
Ear,'  or  "  The  Anthem  of  Judea,"  which  have  been  so  widely  copied  in  various 
periodicals,  will  look  with  the  highest  anticipations  to  this  author,  who  is  no  less 
gifted  than  she  is  original  and  eccentric. 

SWINC.-Truths  for  To-Day.  First  Series.  By  PROFESSOR 
DAVID  SWING.  I2mo.,  325  pages,  tinted  paper.  Price,  $1.50. 

"  The  preacher  makes  no  display  of  his  rich  resources,  but  you  are  convinced 
that  you  are  listening  to  a  man  of  earnest  thought,  of  rare  culture,  and  of  genuine 
humanity.  His  forte  is  evidently  not  that  of  doctrinal  discussion.  He  deals  in  no 
nice  distinctions  of  creed.  He  has  no  taste  for  hair-splitting  subtleties,  but  presents 
a  broad  and  generous  view  of  human  duty,  appealing  to  the  highest  instincts  and 
the  purest  motives  of  a  lofty  manhood." — New  York  Tribune. 

SWING.— Truths  for  To-Day.     Second  Series.    By  PROFESSOR 
.  DAVID  SWING.     (In  press}. 

This  volume  will  contain  the  latest  discourses  of  PROF.  SWING,  some  of  them 
preached  at  the  Fourth  Church,  but  most  of  them  spoken  at  the  Theatre  to  the  New 
Central  Church.  It  is  universally  conceded  that  these  are  the  finest  efforts  he  has 
ever  made,  and  the  general  demand  for  their  preservation  in  more  permanent  form 
than  the  newspaper  reports,  has  led  to  their  issue  in  this  volume.  They  are  selected, 
revised  and  arranged  for  publication  by  PROF.  SWING  himself. 

SWING.-Trial  of  Prof.  Swing.  The  Official  Report  of  this 
important  trial.  8vo.,  286  pages.  Price,  $1.75. 

41  It  constitutes  a  complete  record  of  one  of  the  most  remarkable  ecclesiastical 
trials  of  modern  times." — Boston  Journal. 

"  This  volume  will  be  a  precious  bit  of  history  twenty-five  years  hence,  and  its 
pages  will  be  read  with  mingled  interest  and  surprise." — Golden  Age. 

Any  of  the  books  on  this  list  sent  by  mail,  post-paid,  on  receipt 
of  price  by  the  publishers. 

JANSEN,  McCLURC  &  CO. 

117  &  119  STATE  ST.,  CHICAGO. 


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